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Ci 
GO  •  INTO 

ENGLISH 

>BY 

WILLIAM 

A  WELLS  A 


EXLIBKS  UNIVERSITY  OFCALIFOKMA 


JOHN  HENRY  NASH  LIBRARY 

<§>  SAN  FRANCISCO  * 

PRESENTED  TO  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

ROBERT  GORDON  SPROUL, PRESIDENT. 
<8>    BY  <*> 

MR.ANDMRS.MILTON  S.RAY 
CECILY,  VIRGINIA  AND  ROSALYN  RAY 

AND  THE 

RAY  OIL  BURNER  COMPANY 


SAN  FRANCISCO 
NEW  YORK 


SONNETS  AND  MADRIGALS 

OF  MICHELANGELO 

BUONARROTI 


SONNETS  AND  MADRIGALS 

OF  MICHELANGELO 

BUONARROTI 


RENDERED  INTO  ENGLISH 

VERSE  BY  WILLIAM 

WELLS  NEWELL 


WITH  ITALIAN  TEXT 

INTRODUCTION 

AND  NOTES 


HOUGHTON 

MIFFLIN  AND 

COMPANY 

MDCCCC 


:^^S 


Copyright  1900  by  William  We/Is  Newell 
A//  rights  reserved 


CONTENTS 

Michelangelo  as  Poet  Page     i 

Sonnets  "  i 

Epigrams  "  26 

Madrigals  "  28 

Notes  "  59 

Index  of  First  Lines  "  105 


MICHELANGELO  AS 
POET 


MICHELANGELO    AS 
POET 

jiCHELANGELO,who  considered 
himself  as  primarily  sculp- 
tor, afterwards  painter,  dis- 
claimed the  character  of  poet 
by  profession.  He  was  never- 
theless prolific  in  verse;  the 
pieces  which  survive,  in  number  more  than  two 
hundred,  probably  represent  only  a  small  part 
of  his  activity  in  this  direction.  These  com- 
positions are  not  to  be  considered  merely  as 
the  amusement  of  leisure,  the  byplay  of  fancy; 
they  represent  continued  meditation,  frequent 
reworking,  careful  balancing  of  words ;  he 
worked  on  a  sonnet  or  a  madrigal  in  the  same 
manner  as  on  a  statue,  conceived  with  ardent 
imagination,  undertaken  with  creative  energy, 
pursued  under  the  pressure  of  a  superabundance 
of  ideas,  occasionally  abandoned  in  dissatisfac- 
tion, but  at  other  times  elaborated  to  that  final 
excellence  which  exceeds  as  well  as  includes 
all  merits  of  the  sketch,  and,  as  he  himself  said, 

iii 


MICHELANGELO     AS     POET 

constitutes  a  rebirth  of  the  idea  into  the  realm 
of  eternity.  In  the  sculptor's  time,  the  custom 
of  literary  society  allowed  and  encouraged  in- 
terchange of  verses.  If  the  repute  of  the 
writer  or  the  attraction  of  the  rhymes  com- 
manded interest,  these  might  be  copied,  reach 
an  expanding  circle,  and  achieve  celebrity.  In 
such  manner,  partly  through  the  agency  of 
Michelangelo  himself,  the  sonnets  of  Vittoria 
Colonna  came  into  circulation,  and  obtained 
an  acceptance  ending  in  a  printed  edition.  But 
the  artist  did  not  thus  arrange  his  own  rhymes, 
does  not  appear  even  to  have  kept  copies ;  writ- 
ten on  stray  leaves,  included  in  letters,  they 
remained  as  loose  memoranda,  or  were  suffered 
altogether  to  disappear.  The  fame  of  the  au- 
thor secured  attention  for  anything  to  which  he 
chose  to  set  his  hand  ;  the  verses  were  copied 
and  collected,  and  even  gathered  into  the  form 
of  books;  one  such  manuscript  gleaning  he 
revised  with  his  own  hand.  The  sonnets  be- 
came known,  the  songs  were  set  to  music,  and 
the  recognition  of  their  merit  induced  a  con- 
temporary author,  in  the  seventy-first  year  of 
the  poet's  life,  to  deliver  before  the  Florentine 
Academy  a  lecture  on  a  single  sonnet. 

Diffusion  through  the  printing-press,  how- 
iv 


MICHELANGELO     AS     POET 

ever,  the  poems  did  not  attain.  Not  until 
sixty  years  after  the  death  of  their  author  did 
a  grand-nephew,  also  called  Michelangelo 
Buonarroti,  edit  the  verse  of  his  kinsman  ;  in 
this  task  he  had  regard  to  supposed  literary  pro- 
prieties, conventionalizing  the  language  and 
sentiment  of  lines  which  seemed  harsh  or  im- 
polite, supplying  endings  for  incomplete  com- 
positions, and  in  general  doing  his  best  to  de- 
prive the  verse  of  an  originality  which  the  age 
was  not  inclined  to  tolerate.  The  recast  was 
accepted  as  authentic,  and  in  this  mutilated 
form  the  poetry  remained  accessible.  Fortu- 
nately the  originals  survived,  partly  in  the 
handwriting  of  the  author,  and  in  1863  were 
edited  by  Guasti.  The  publication  added  to 
the  repute  of  the  compositions,  and  the  sonnets 
especially  have  become  endeared  to  many  Eng- 
lish readers. 

The  long  neglect  of  Michelangelo's  poetry 
was  owing  to  the  intellectual  deficiencies  of 
the  succeeding  generation.  In  spite  of  the 
partial  approbation  of  his  contemporaries,  it 
is  likely  that  these  were  not  much  more  ap- 
preciative, and  that  their  approval  was  ren- 
dered rather  to  the  fame  of  the  maker  than  to 
the  merits  of  the  work.  The  complication  of 

v 


MICHELANGELO     AS     POET 

the  thought,  frequently  requiring  to  be  thought 
out  word  for  word,  demanded  a  mental  effort 
beyond  the  capacity  of  literati  whose  ideal  was 
the  simplicity  and  triviality  of  Petrarchian 
imitators.  Varchi  assuredly  had  no  genuine 
comprehension  of  the  sonnet  to  which  he  de- 
voted three  hours  of  his  auditors'  patience; 
Berni,  who  affirmed  that  Michelangelo  wrote 
things,  while  other  authors  used  words,  to 
judge  by  his  own  compositions  could  scarce 
have  been  more  sensible  of  the  artist's  emo- 
tional depth.  The  sculptor,  who  bitterly  ex- 
pressed his  consciousness  that  for  the  highest 
elements  of  his  genius  his  world  had  no  eyes, 
must  have  felt  a  similar  lack  of  sympathy  with 
his  poetical  conceptions.  Here  he  stood  on 
less  safe  ground ;  unacquainted  with  classic 
literature,  unable  correctly  to  write  a  Latin 
phrase,  he  must  have  known,  to  use  his  own 
metaphor,  that  while  he  himself  might  value 
plain  homespun,  the  multitude  admired  the 
stuffs  of  silk  and  gold  that  went  to  the  making 
of  a  tailors'  man.  It  is  likely  that  the  resulting 
intellectual  loneliness  assumed  the  form  of 
modesty,  and  that  Michelangelo  took  small 
pains  to  preserve  his  poetry  because  he  set  on 
it  no  great  value, 
vi 


MICHELANGELO     AS     POET 

The  verse,  essentially  lyric,  owed  its  inspi- 
ration to  experience.  A  complete  record 
would  have  constituted  a  biography  more  inti- 
mate than  any  other.  But  such  memorial 
does  not  exist ;  of  early  productions  few  sur- 
vive ;  the  extant  poems,  for  the  most  part,  ap- 
pear to  have  been  composed  after  the  sixtieth 
year  of  their  author. 

The  series  begins  with  a  sonnet  written  in 
1506,  when  Michelangelo  was  thirty-one  years 
of  age.  The  sculptor  had  been  called  to 
Rome  by  pope  Julius,  who  conceived  that  the 
only  way  to  ensure  an  adequately  magnificent 
mausoleum  was  to  prepare  it  during  his  own 
lifetime.  A  splendid  design  was  made  for  the 
monument  destined  to  prove  the  embarrass- 
ment of  Michelangelo's  career ;  but  the  pope 
was  persuaded  that  it  was  not  worth  while  to 
waste  his  means  in  marbles,  and  in  the  spring 
of  1506  the  artist  fled  to  Florence.  In  that 
city  he  may  have  penned  the  sonnet  in  which 
Julius  is  blamed  for  giving  ear  to  the  voice  of 
Echo  (misreporting  calumniators)  instead  of 
holding  the  balance  even  and  the  sword  erect 
(in  the  character  of  a  sculptured  Justice).  The 
writer  adds  a  bitter  complaint  of  the  injustice 
of  fate,  which  sends  merit  to  pluck  the  fruit 

vii 


MICHELANGELO     AS     POET 

of  a  withered  bough.  Another  sonnet  of  the 
period  seems  to  have  been  written  in  Rome ; 
the  subscription  reads:  "Your  Michelangelo,, 
in  Turkey."  The  piece  contains  an  indict- 
ment against  the  papal  court,  at  that  time  oc- 
cupied with  plans  for  military  advancement, 
where  the  eucharistic  cup  is  changed  into  hel- 
met, and  cross  into  lance ;  for  safety's  sake, 
let  Christ  keep  aloof  from  a  city  where  his 
blood  would  be  sold  dropwise.  Work  there 
is  none,  and  the  Medusa-like  pope  turns  the 
artist  to  stone ;  if  poverty  is  beloved  by  hea- 
ven, the  servants  of  heaven,  under  the  oppo- 
site banner,  are  doing  their  best  to  destroy  that 
other  life.  In  1509,  a  sonnet  addressed  to 
Giovanni  ©f  Pistoia  describes  the  sufferings 
endured  in  executing  the  frescoes  of  the  Sis- 
tine  chapel.  We  are  shown  Michelangelo 
bent  double  on  his  platform,  the  paint  oozing 
on  his  face,  his  eyes  blurred  and  squinting,  his 
fancy  occupied  with  conjecture  of  the  effect 
produced  on  spectators  standing  below.  Al- 
lusion is  made  to  hostile  critics  ;  the  writer 
bids  his  friend  maintain  the  honor  of  one  who 
does  not  profess  to  be  a  painter.  While  look- 
ing upward  to  the  vault  retained  in  the  mem- 
ory of  many  persons  as  the  most  holy  spot  in 
viii 


MICHELANGELO     AS     POET 

Europe,  it  is  well  to  recollect  the  sufferings 
of  the  artist,  who  in  an  unaccustomed  field  of 
labor  achieved  a  triumph  such  as  no  other 
decorator  has  obtained.  A  fourth  sonnet,  ad- 
dressed to  the  same  Giovanni,  reveals  the  flam- 
ing irritability  of  a  temper  prone  to  exaggerate 
slights,  especially  from  a  Pistoian,  presumably 
insensible  to  the  preeminence  of  Florence, 
"  that  precious  joy." 

With  this  group  can  be  certainly  classed 
only  one  sonnet  of  a  different  character  (No. 
XX).  This  was  penned  on  a  letter  of  De- 
cember, 1507,  addressed  to  Michelangelo  at 
Bologna,  where  he  was  then  leading  a  miser- 
able life,  engaged  on  the  statue  of  Julius  ;  this 
work,  on  which  he  wasted  three  years,  was 
finally  melted  into  a  cannon,  in  order  that  the 
enemies  of  the  pope  might  fire  at  the  latter  by 
means  of  his  own  likeness.  The  verse  is  a 
spontaneous  and  passionate  outburst  of  admira- 
tion for  a  beautiful  girl.  With  this  piece  might 
be  associated  two  or  three  undated  composi- 
tions of  similar  nature,  which  serve  to  show 
the  error  of  the  supposition  that  the  artist  was 
insensible  to  feminine  attractions.  It  may  be 
affirmed  that  the  reverse  was  the  case,  and 
that  the  thoughtful  temper  of  the  extant  poetry 

ix 


MICHELANGELO     AS     POET 

is  due  solely  to  the  sobering  influences   of 
time. 

The  verse  which  might  have  exhibited  the 
transition  from  early  to  later  manhood  has  not 
been  preserved  ;  during  twenty  years  survive 
no  compositions  of  which  the  date  is  assured. 
Subsequently  to  that  time,  assistance  is  derived 
from  the  fortunate  accident  that  several  of  the 
sonnets  were  written  on  dated  letters.  It  is 
true  that  this  indication  is  far  from  furnishing 
secure  testimony.  Even  at  the  present  day, 
when  paper  is  so  easily  obtained,  I  have  known 
a  writer  of  rhyme  who  was  in  the  habit  of 
using  the  backs  of  old  letters.  That  Michel- 
angelo sometimes  did  the  same  thing  appears 
to  be  demonstrated  by  the  existence  of  a  son- 
net (No.  L),  which,  though  written  on  the 
back  of  a  letter  of  1532,  professes  to  be  com- 
posed in  extreme  old  age.  The  evidence, 
therefore,  is  of  value  only  when  supported  by 
the  character  of  the  piece.  Nor  is  internal 
testimony  entirely  to  be  depended  on.  It  is 
to  be  remembered  that  all  makers  of  verse  re- 
model former  work,  complete  imperfect  essays, 
put  into  form  reminiscences  which  essentially 
belong  to  an  earlier  stage  of  feeling.  Attempts 
to  classify  the  productions  must  follow  a  sub- 


MICHELANGELO     AS     POET 

jective  opinion,  very  apt  to  err.  Nevertheless 
something  may  be  accomplished  in  this  direc- 
tion. 

The  nephew  states  that  two  sonnets  (Nos. 
XXIV  and  XXV)  were  found  on  a  leaf  con- 
taining a  memorandum  of  1529.  Extant  is 
another  sonnet,  certainly  written  on  a  page 
having  an  entry  of  that  year.  These  three 
sonnets  seem  to  breathe  the  same  atmosphere ; 
the  emotion  is  sustained  by  a  direct  impulse, 
the  verse  is  apparently  inspired  by  a  sentiment 
too  lyric  to  be  unhappy;  the  employment  of 
theologic  metaphor  and  Platonic  fancy  is  still 
subsidiary  to  emotion.  Allowing  for  the  im- 
aginative indulgence  of  feeling  common  to 
lyrical  poets,  it  seems  nevertheless  possible  to 
perceive  a  basis  of  personal  experience.  With 
these  pieces  may  be  associated  a  number  of 
sonnets  and  madrigals,  among  the  most  beau- 
tiful productions  of  the  author,  which  may 
conjecturally  be  assigned  to  the  period  before 
his  permanent  Roman  residence,  or  at  any  rate 
may  be  supposed  to  represent  the  impressions 
of  such  time.  As  compared  with  the  work 
which  may  with  confidence  be  dated  as  pro- 
duced within  the  ensuing  decade,  these  corre- 
spond to  an  earlier  manner.  Wanting  the 

xi 


MICHELANGELO     AS     POET 

direct  and  impetuous  passion  of  the  few  youth- 
ful verses,  they  nevertheless  show  a  spiritual 
conception  of  sexual  attachment,  not  yet  re- 
solved into  religious  aspiration.  They  sug- 
gest that  the  inflammable  and  gentle-hearted 
artist  passed  through  a  series  of  inclinations, 
none  of  which  terminated  in  a  permanent 
alliance. 

At  the  end  of  1534,  near  his  sixtieth  year, 
Michelangelo  came  to  live  in  Rome ;  and  to 
that  city,  three  years  later,  Vittoria  Colonna 
came  for  a  long  visit,  in  the  twelfth  year 
of  her  widowhood,  and  the  forty-seventh  of 
her  life.  An  acquaintance  may  have  been 
established  in  the  course  of  previous  years, 
when  the  lady  visited  Rome,  or  possibly  even 
at  a  prior  time.  Whatever  was  the  date  of 
the  first  encounter,  allusions  in  the  poems  seem 
to  imply  that  the  meeting  produced  a  deep  im- 
pression on  the  mind  of  the  artist  (Madrigals 
LIV,  LXXII).  At  all  events,  the  relations 
of  the  two  grew  into  a  friendship,  hardly  to 
be  termed  intimacy.  Only  a  very  few  of  the 
poems  are  known  to  have  been  addressed  to 
Vittoria ;  but  the  veiled  references  of  several 
pieces,  and  the  tone  of  the  poetry,  appear  to 
justify  the  opinion  that  admiration  for  this 
xii 


MICHELANGELO     AS     POET 

friend  was  the  important  influence  that  af- 
fected the  character  of  the  verse  written  during 
the  ten  years  before  her  death  in  1547. 

In  Rome,  the  Marchioness  of  Pescara  made 
her  home  in  the  convent  of  San  Silvestro,  where 
she  reigned  as  queen  of  an  intelligent  circle. 
A  charming  and  welcome  glimpse  of  this  so- 
ciety is  furnished  by  Francis  of  Holland,  who 
professes  to  relate  three  conversations,  held 
on  as  many  Sunday  mornings,  in  which  the 
sculptor  took  a  chief  part.  It  is  not  diffi- 
cult to  imagine  the  calmness  and  coolness  of 
the  place,  the  serious  and  placid  beauty  of  the 
celebrated  lady,  the  figure  of  Michelangelo,  the 
innocent  devices  by  which  the  sympathetic  Vit- 
toria  contrived  to  educe  his  vehement  outbursts 
on  artistic  questions,  the  devout  listening  of  the 
stranger,  hanging  on  the  chief  artist  of  Italy 
with  the  attention  of  a  reporter  who  means  to 
put  all  into  a  book.  So  far  as  the  conversa- 
tion represents  a  symposium  on  matters  of  art, 
no  doubt  the  account  is  to  be  taken  as  in  good 
measure  the  method  adopted  by  Francis  to  put 
before  the  world  his  own  ideas ;  but  among  the 
remarks  are  many  so  consonant  to  the  charac- 
ter of  the  sculptor  that  it  is  impossible  to 
doubt  the  essential  correctness  of  the  narration. 

xiii 


MICHELANGELO     AS     POET 

In  the  language  of  Michelangelo  speaks  haughty 
reserve,  the  consciousness  of  superiority,  ac- 
companied by  a  sense  that  his  most  precious 
qualities  exceeded  the  comprehension  of  a 
world  which  rendered  credit  less  to  the  real 
man  than  to  the  fashionable  artist,  and  whose 
attention  expressed  not  so  much  gratitude  for 
illumination  as  desire  of  becoming  associated 
with  what  society  held  in  respect. 

All  students  who  have  had  occasion  to  con- 
cern themselves  with  the  biography  of  Vittoria 
Colonna  have  become  impressed  with  the  ex- 
cellence of  her  character.  After  the  loss  of  a 
husband  to  whom  she  had  been  united  in  ex- 
treme youth,  she  declared  her  intention  of  form- 
ing no  new  ties  ;  and  it  must  have  been  an 
exceptional  purity  which  the  censorious  and 
corrupt  world  could  associate  with  no  breath  of 
scandal.  She  had  been  accounted  the  most 
beautiful  woman  in  Italy,  of  that  golden-haired 
and  broadbrowed  type  recognized  as  favorite ; 
but  her  intelligence,  rather  than  personal  attrac- 
tions or  social  position,  had  made  her  seclusion 
in  Ischia  a  place  of  pilgrimage  for  men  of  let- 
ters. The  attraction  she  possessed  for  the  lone- 
ly, reserved,  and  proud  artist  is  a  testimony  that 
to  her  belonged  especially  the  inexplicable  at- 
xiv 


MICHELANGELO     AS     POET 

traction  of  a  sympathetic  nature.  Such  disposi- 
tion is  a  sufficient  explanation  of  her  devotion 
to  the  memory  of  a  husband  who  appears  to  have 
been  essentially  a  condottiere  of  the  time,  a  sol- 
dier who  made  personal  interest  his  chief  con- 
sideration. She  may  also  be  credited  with  a 
sound  judgment  and  pure  ethical  purpose  in  the 
practical  affairs  of  life. 

Yet  to  allow  that  Vittoria  Colonna  was  good 
and  lovable  does  not  make  it  necessary  to  wor- 
ship her  as  a  tenth  muse,  according  to  the 
partial  judgment  of  her  contemporaries.  Un- 
fortunately, time  has  spared  her  verses,  respect- 
ing which  may  be  repeated  advice  bestowed 
by  Mrs.  Browning  in  regard  to  another  female 
author,  by  no  means  to  indulge  in  the  perusal, 
inasmuch  as  they  seem  to  disprove  the  presence 
of  a  talent  which  she  nevertheless  probably  pos- 
sessed. In  the  case  commented  on  by  the 
modern  writer,  the  genius  absent  in  the  books 
is  revealed  in  the  correspondence ;  but  episto- 
lary composition  was  not  the  forte  of  the  Mar- 
chioness of  Pescara,  whose  communications, 
regarded  as  pabulum  for  a  hungry  heart,  are  as 
jejune  as  can  be  conceived.  Neither  is  she  to 
be  credited  with  originality  in  her  attitude 
toward  political  or  religious  problems.  It  does 

xv 


MICHELANGELO     AS     POET 

not  appear  that  she  quarreled  with  the  princi- 
ples of  the  polite  banditti  of  her  own  family ; 
nor  was  she  able  to  attain  even  an  elementary 
notion  of  Italian  patriotism.  She  has  been  set 
down  as  a  reformer  in  religion  ;  but  such  ten- 
dency went  no  further  than  a  sincere  affection 
toward  the  person  of  the  founder  of  Christian- 
ity, a  piety  in  no  way  inconsistent  with  ritual 
devotion.  When  it  came  to  the  dividing  of 
the  ways,  she  had  no  thought  other  than  to 
follow  the  beaten  track.  Nor  in  the  world  of 
ideas  did  she  possess  greater  independence ; 
with  all  her  esteem  for  Michelangelo  as  artist 
and  man,  it  is  not  likely  that  she  was  able  to 
estimate  the  sources  of  his  supremacy,  any 
more  than  to  foresee  a  time  when  her  name 
would  have  interest  for  the  world  only  as  asso- 
ciated with  that  of  the  sculptor.  It  may  be 
believed  that  a  mind  capable  of  taking  pleasure 
in  the  commonplaces  of  her  rhyme  could  never 
have  appreciated  the  essential  merits  of  the 
mystic  verse  which  she  inspired.  Here,  also, 
Michelangelo  was  destined  to  remain  uncom- 
prehended.  Vittoria  presented  him  with  her 
own  poems,  neatly  written  out  and  bound,  but 
never  seems  to  have  taken  the  pains  to  gather 
those  of  the  artist.  Intellectually,  therefore, 
xvi 


MICHELANGELO     AS     POET 

her  limitations  were  many  ;  but  she  was  en- 
dowed with  qualities  more  attractive,  a  gentle 
sympathy,  a  noble  kindness,  a  person  and  ex- 
pression representative  of  that  ideal  excellence 
which  the  sculptor  could  appreciate  only  as 
embodied  in  human  form. 

While  earlier  writers  of  biography  were  in- 
clined to  exaggerate  the  effect  on  Michelangelo 
of  his  acquaintance  with  Vittoria  Colonna, 
later  authors,  as  I  think,  have  fallen  into  the 
opposite  error.  To  Vittoria,  indeed,  whose 
thoughts,  when  not  taken  up  with  devotional 
exercises,  were  occupied  with  the  affairs  of 
her  family  or  of  the  church,  such  amity  could 
occupy  only  a  subordinate  place.  One  of  her 
letters  to  Michelangelo  may  be  taken  as  a  po- 
lite repression  of  excessive  interest.  But  on 
the  other  side,  the  poetry  of  the  artist  is  a  clear, 
almost  a  painful  expressioa  of  his  own  state 
of  mind.  We  are  shown,  in  the  mirror  of  his 
own  verse,  a  sensitive,  self-contained,  solitary 
nature,  aware  that  he  is  out  of  place  in  a  world 
for  which  he  lacks  essential  graces  and  in  which 
he  is  respected  for  his  least  worthy  qualities. 
That  under  such  circumstances  he  should  value 
the  kindness  of  the  only  woman  with  whom  he 
could  intelligently  converse,  that  he  should 

xvii 


MICHELANGELO     AS     POET 

feel  the  attraction  of  eyes  from  which  seemed 
to  descend  starry  influences,  that  he  should  suf- 
fer from  the  sense  of  inadequacy  and  transi- 
toriness,  from  the  difference  of  fortune  and  the 
lapse  of  years,  the  contrasts  of  imagination  and 
possibility,  was  only,  as  he  would  have  said, 
to  manifest  attribute  in  act,  to  suffer  the  nat- 
ural pain  incident  to  sensitive  character. 

In  the  most  striking  of  the  compositions  de- 
voted to  the  memory  of  Vittoria  Colonna 
Michelangelo  speaks  of  her  influence  as  the 
tool  by  which  his  own  genius  had  been  formed, 
and  which,  when  removed  to  heaven  and  made 
identical  with  the  divine  archetype,  left  no 
earthly  substitute.  That  the  language  was  no 
more  than  an  expression  of  the  fact  is  shown 
by  the  alteration  which  from  this  time  appears 
in  his  verse.  Poetry  passes  over  into  piety  ; 
artistic  color  is  exchanged  for  the  monotone  of 
religious  emotion.  One  may  be  glad  that  the 
old  age,  of  whose  trials  he  has  left  a  terrible  pic- 
ture, found  its  support  and  alleviation  ;  yet  the 
later  poems,  distressing  in  their  solemnity,  pie- 
tistic  in  their  self-depreciation,  exhibit  a  declin- 
ing poetic  faculty,  and  in  this  respect  are  not 
to  be  ranked  with  their  forerunners. 

The  verse  of  Michelangelo  has  been  lauded 
xviii 


MICHELANGELO     AS     POET 

as  philosophic.  The  epithet  is  out  of  place ; 
if  by  philosophy  be  meant  metaphysics,  there 
is  no  such  thing  as  philosophic  poetry.  Poetry 
owes  no  debt  to  metaphysical  speculation,  can 
coexist  as  well  with  one  type  of  doctrine  as 
with  another.  The  obligation  is  on  the  other 
side  ;  philosophy  is  petrified  poetry,  which  no 
infusion  of  adventitious  sap  can  relegate  to 
vital  function.  Like  all  other  developments 
of  life,  philosophic  theories  can  be  employed 
by  poets  only  for  colors  of  the  palette.  If 
Platonic  conceptions  be  deemed  exceptional,  it 
is  because  such  opinions  are  themselves  poetry 
more  than  metaphysics,  and  constitute  rather 
metaphorical  expressions  for  certain  human 
sentiments  than  any  system  of  ratiocination. 
For  the  purposes  of  Michelangelo,  these  doc- 
trines supplied  an  adequate  means  of  presenta- 
tion, quite  independent  of  the  abstract  verity 
of  the  principles  considered  as  the  product  of 
reasoning. 

With  the  sculptor,  it  was  the  impressions 
and  feelings  of  later  life  that  this  philosophy 
served  to  convey.  The  few  remains  of  compar- 
ative youth  lead  us  to  suppose  that  in  the  verse 
of  this  time  the  reflective  quality  was  subordi- 
nate ;  the  productions  of  later  manhood  breathe 

xix 


MICHELANGELO     AS     POET 

a  gentle  emotion,  which,  allowing  for  contrasts, 
may  be  compared  with  that  animating  the 
poetry  of  Wordsworth ;  only  in  compositions 
belonging  to  incipient  age  do  we  find  a  full 
development  of  Platonic  conceptions  ;  these, 
again,  constitute  a  step  in  the  progress  toward 
that  Christian  quietism  into  which  the  stream 
of  the  poet's  genius  emerges,  as  from  its  impet- 
uous source,  through  the  powerful  flow  of  its 
broadening  current,  a  great  river  at  last  empties 
itself  into  the  all-encompassing  sea. 

This  philosophy  was  no  result  of  reading, 
but  a  deposit  from  conversations  which  the 
youth  had  overheard  in  the  Medicean  gardens, 
where  he  may  have  listened  to  the  eloquence 
of  Marsilio  Ficino.  When  the  time  came, 
these  reminiscences  were  able  to  influence  im- 
agination and  color  fancy.  For  a  commentary 
on  Michelangelo,  one  has  no  need  to  go  to  the 
Phaedrus  or  Symposium  ;  the  verse,  like  all 
true  poetry,  is  self-illuminative.  That  God 
is  the  archetype  and  fountain-head  of  all  excel- 
lency, that  external  objects  suggest  the  perfec- 
tion they  do  not  include,  that  objects  of  nature, 
reflected  in  the  mirror  of  the  intelligence,  move 
the  soul  to  perform  the  creative  act  by  which 
outward  beauty  is  reborn  into  her  own  likeness, 
xx 


MICHELANGELO     AS     POET 

and  loved  as  the  representation  of  her  own 
divinity,  that  the  highest  property  of  external 
things  is  to  cause  human  thought  to  transcend 
from  the  partial  to  the  universal,  —  these  are 
conceptions  so  simple  and  natural  that  no 
course  of  study  is  necessary  to  their  apprecia- 
tion. The  ideas  are  received  as  symbols  of 
certain  moral  conditions,  and  so  far  not  open 
to  debate.  Only  when  the  attempt  is  made  to 
generalize,  to  set  them  up  as  the  sum  of  all  ex- 
perience, do  they  become  doubtful ;  the  prin- 
ciples are  better  comprehended  without  the 
dialectic,  and  indeed  it  frequently  happens  that 
he  who  has  paid  most  attention  to  the  latter  is 
least  informed  respecting  the  true  significance 
of  the  imaginations  for  the  sake  of  which  the 
argument  professes  to  exist. 

Hand  in  hand  with  this  Hellenic,  one  might 
say  human  mysticism,  went  the  Christian  mys- 
ticism expressed  in  the  poetry  of  Dante.  In 
place  of  the  serene  archetype,  the  apotheosis 
of  reason,  we  are  presented  with  the  archety- 
pal love,  reaching  out  toward  mankind  through 
the  forms  of  nature.  No  longer  the  calm  friend, 
the  beloved  person  is  conceived  as  the  ardent 
angel,  messenger  from  the  empyrean,  descend- 
ing and  revealing.  It  has  been  held  that  these 

xxi 


MICHELANGELO     AS     POET 

two  forms  of  thought  are  irreconcilable;  I 
should  consider  them  as  complementary.  Be- 
fore the  beginnings  of  the  Christian  church  had 
been  effected  a  union  of  Platonic  imagination 
with  Hebrew  piety  j  Christian  sentiment  ex- 
presses in  terms  of  affection  the  philosophic 
doctrine,  also  pious  and  poetic,  however  pro- 
claimed under  the  name  and  with  the  coloring 
of  sober  reason. 

It  could  not  have  been  expected  that  in  the 
poetical  activity  which  of  necessity  with  him 
remained  a  subordinate  interest,  Michelangelo 
should  have  manifested  the  full  measure  of  that 
independent  force,  which  in  two  arts  had  proved 
adequate  to  break  new  channels.  This  third 
method  of  expression  served  to  manifest  a  part 
of  his  nature  for  which  grander  tasks  did  not 
supply  adequate  outlets ;  the  verse  accordingly 
reveals  new  aspects  of  character.  It  was  for 
gentle,  wistful,  meditative  emotions  that  the 
artist  found  it  necessary  to  use  rhyme.  If  not 
torrential,  the  current  was  vital ;  no  line  un- 
freshened  by  living  waters.  This  function  ex- 
plains the  limitation  of  scope ;  essays  in  pasto- 
ral, in  terza  rima,  served  to  prove  that  here  did 
not  lie  his  path  ;  in  the  conventional  forms  of 
the  sonnet  and  the  madrigal  he  found  the 
xxii 


MICHELANGELO     AS     POET 

medium  desired.  The  familiarity  of  the  form 
did  not  prevent  originality  of  substance ;  he 
had  from  youth  been  intimate  with  the  youth- 
ful melodies  of  Dante,  the  lucid  sonnets  of 
Petrarch;  but  his  own  style,  controlled  by 
thought,  is  remote  from  the  gentle  music  of  the 
one,  the  clear  flow  of  the  other.  The  verse 
exhibits  a  superabundance  of  ideas,  not  easily 
brought  within  the  limits  of  the  rhyme ;  amid 
an  imagery  prevailingly  tender  and  reflective, 
now  and  then  a  gleam  or  a  flash  reveals  the 
painter  of  the  Sistine  and  the  sculptor  of  the 
Medicean  chapel. 

Essentially  individual  is  the  artistic  imagery. 
As  Michelangelo  was  above  all  a  creator  whose 
genius  inclined  him  toward  presentation  of  the 
unadorned  human  form,  so  his  metaphors  are 
prevailingly  taken  from  the  art  of  sculpture,  a 
loan  which  enriches  the  verse  by  the  associa- 
tion with  immortal  works.  These  comparisons, 
taken  from  the  methods  of  the  time,  are  not  al- 
together such  as  could  now  be  employed.  At 
the  outset,  indeed,  the  procedure  scarcely  dif- 
fered; with  the  sculptor  of  the  Renaissance,  the 
first  step  was  to  produce  a  sketch  of  small  di- 
mensions ;  the  same  thing  is  done  by  the  mod- 
ern artist,  who  commonly  uses  clay  and  plaster 

xxiii 


MICHELANGELO     AS     POET 

in  place  of  wax.  It  is  in  the  nature  of  the  de- 
sign, or,  as  Michelangelo  said,  of  the  "  model," 
that,  as  having  the  character  of  an  impression, 
it  must  superabound  in  rude  vitality,  as  much 
as  it  is  deficient  in  symmetry  and  u  measure." 
The  next  step,  then  as  now,  might  be  the  pre- 
paration of  a  form  answering  in  size  to  that  of 
the  intended  figure,  but  also  in  wax  or  clay.  In 
the  final  part  of  the  process,  however,  the  dis- 
tinction is  complete ;  in  the  sixteenth  century 
no  way  was  open  to  the  maker,  but  himself  to 
perfect  the  statue  with  hammer  and  chisel.  The 
advance  of  mechanical  skill  has  enabled  the 
modern  artist  to  dispense  with  this  labor.  It 
may  be  questioned  whether  the  consequent  sav- 
ing of  pains  is  in  all  respects  an  advantage  ;  at 
least,  I  have  the  authority  of  one  of  the  most 
accomplished  of  modern  portrait  sculptors  for 
theopinion  that  in  strict  propriety  every  kind  of 
plastic  work  ought  to  receive  its  final  touches 
from  the  hand  of  the  designer.  Even  if  this 
were  done, the  method  would  not  answer  to  that 
of  the  earlier  century,  when  it  was  the  practice 
to  cleave  away  the  marble  in  successive  planes, 
in  such  manner  as  gradually  to  disengage  the 
outlines  of  the  image,  which  thus  appeared  to 
lie  veiled  beneath  the  superficies,  as  an  indwell- 
xxiv 


MICHELANGELO     AS     POET 

ing  tenant  waiting  release  from  the  hand  of  the 
carver.  Moreover,  the  preciousness  of  the  ma- 
terial had  on  the  fancy  a  salutary  influence ;  be- 
fore beginning  his  task,  the  sculptor  was  com- 
pelled to  take  into  account  the  possibility  of 
execution.  He  would  commonly  feel  himself 
obliged  to  make  use  of  any  particular  block 
of  marble  which  he  might  have  the  fortune  to 
possess;  it  might  even  happen  that  such  block 
possessed  an  unusual  form,  as  was  the  case  with 
the  stone  placed  at  the  disposal  of  Michel- 
angelo, and  from  which  he  created  his  David. 
The  test  of  genius  would  therefore  be  the  abil- 
ity, on  perception  of  the  material,  to  form  a 
suitable  conception  ;  a  sculptor,  if  worthy  of 
the  name,  would  perceive  the  possible  statue 
within  the  mass.  The  metaphor,  so  frequently 
and  beautifully  used  by  Michelangelo,  which 
represents  the  artist  as  conceiving  the  dormant 
image  which  his  toil  must  bring  forth  from  its 
enveloping  stone,  is  therefore  no  commonplace 
of  scholastic  philosophy,  no  empty  phrase  de- 
claring that  matter  potentially  contains  unnum- 
bered forms,  but  a  true  description  of  the  pro- 
cess of  creative  energy.  Inasmuch  as  by  an 
inevitable  animism  all  conceptions  derived 
from  human  activity  are  imaginatively  trans- 

XXV 


MICHELANGELO     AS     POET 

ferred  to  external  life,  the  comparison  is  ex- 
tended into  the  realm  of  Nature,  which  by  a 
highly  poetic  forecast  of  the  modern  doctrine  of 
evolution  is  said  through  the  ages  to  aim  at  at- 
taining an  ideal  excellence.  The  impulse  visi- 
ble in  the  art  of  the  sculptor  thus  appears  in 
his  poetry,  which,  also  perfected  through  un- 
wearied toil,  terminates  in  a  result  which  is  truly 
organic,  and  of  which  all  parts  seem  to  derive 
from  a  central  idea. 

A  lyric  poet,  if  he  possess  genuine  talent,  is 
concerned  with  the  presentation,  not  of  form 
or  thought,  but  of  emotion.  His  fancy,  there- 
fore, commonly  operates  in  a  manner  different 
from  that  of  the  artist,  whose  duty  it  is  pri- 
marily to  consider  the  visual  image  ;  the  verse 
of  the  latter,  if  he  undertakes  to  express  him- 
self also  in  the  poetic  manner,  is  usually  charac- 
terized by  a  predominance  of  detail,  an  overdis- 
tinctness  of  parts,  an  inability  of  condensation, 
qualities  belonging  to  an  imagination  conceiv- 
ing of  life  as  definitely  formal  rather  than  as 
vaguely  impressive.  On  the  contrary,  Michel- 
angelo is  a  true  lyrist,  whose  mental  vision  is 
not  too  concrete  to  be  also  dreamy.  This 
property  is  a  strange  proof  of  the  multiformity 
of  his  genius,  for  it  is  the  reverse  of  what  one 
xxvi 


MICHELANGELO     AS     POET 

would  expect  from  a  contemplation  of  his 
plastic  work.  The  inspiration,  though  in  a 
measure  biographic,  is  no  mere  reflection  of 
the  experience ;  notwithstanding  the  sincerity 
of  the  impulse,  as  should  be  the  case  in  lyric 
verse,  the  expression  transcends  to  the  uni- 
versal. 

It  does  not  detract  from  his  worth  as  a  lyri- 
cal writer,  that  the  range  of  the  themes  is  nar- 
row, a  limitation  sufficiently  explained  by  the 
conditions.  The  particular  sentiment  for  the 
expression  of  which  he  needed  rhyme  was  sex- 
ual affection.  In  the  verse,  if  not  in  the  art, 
u  all  thoughts,  all  passions,  all  delights "  are 
ministers  of  that  emotion.  Michelangelo  is  as 
much  a  poet  of  love  as  Heine  or  Shelley. 

The  sonnets  were  intended  not  to  be  sung, 
but  to  be  read  ;  this  purpose  may  account  for 
occasional  deficiencies  of  music.  The  beauty 
of  the  idea,  the  abundance  of  the  thought,  the 
sincerity  of  the  emotion,  cause  them  to  stand 
in  clear  contrast  to  the  productions  of  contem- 
porary versifiers. 

Less  attention  has  been  paid  to  the  madri- 
gals, on  which  the  author  bestowed  equal  pains. 
These  are  songs,  and  the  melody  has  affected 
the  thought.  The  self-consciousness  of  the 

xxvii 


MICHELANGELO     AS     POET 

poet  is  subordinated  to  the  objectivity  of  the 
musician  who  aims  to  render  human  experi- 
ence into  sweet  sound.  For  the  most  part, 
and  with  some  conspicuous  exceptions,  even 
where  the  idea  is  equally  mystical,  the  reason- 
ing is  not  so  intricate  nor  the  sentiment  so 
biographic.  A  certain  number  have  the  char- 
acter of  simple  love-verse.  In  these  composi- 
tions ardor  is  unchecked  by  reflection,  and  de- 
sire allowed  its  natural  course,  unquenched  by 
the  abundant  flow  of  the  thought  which  it  has 
awakened.  What  assumes  the  aspect  of  love- 
sorrow  is  in  reality  a  joyous  current  of  life 
mocking  grief  with  the  music  of  its  ripples. 
If  one  desired  to  name  the  composer  whom 
the  sentiment  suggests,  he  might  mention 
Schumann  rather  than  Beethoven. 

Other  indifferent  artists  have  been  excellent 
poets,  and  other  tolerable  versifiers  clever  ar- 
tists ;  but  only  once  in  human  history  has  co- 
existed the  highest  talent  for  plastic  form  and 
verbal  expression.  Had  these  verses  come  down 
without  name,  had  they  been  disinterred  from 
the  dust  of  a  library  as  the  legacy  of  an  anony- 
mous singer,  they  would  be  held  to  confer  on 
the  maker  a  title  to  rank  among  intellectual 
benefactors.  It  would  be  said  that  an  unknown 
xxviii 


MICHELANGELO     AS     POET 

poet,  whose  verse  proved  him  also  a  sculptor, 
had  contributed  to  literature  thoughts  whose 
character  might  be  summed  up  in  the  lines  of 
his  madrigal :  — 

"Dalle  piu  alte  stelle 

Discende  uno  splendore 

Che  Y  desir  tira  a  quelle ; 

E  qui  si  cbiama  amore. 


xxix 


SONNETS     EPIGRAMS    AND 
MADRIGALS 


A  SELECTION  FROM  THE  SONNETS 

OF  MICHELANGELO 

BUONARROTI 

ITALIAN    TEXT 


AL  cieldiscese,  e  col  mortal  suo,poi 
Che  visto  ebbe  I9  inferno  giusto 

e  V  pio, 

R/V0r«0  vivo  a  contemplare  D/0, 
Per  dar  di  tutto  II  vero  lume  a 
not : 

Lucente  stella,  cbe  co9  raggi  suot 

Fe  chiaro,  a  torto,  el  nido  ove  naqqif  to ; 

Ne  sare'  V  premto  tutto  V  mondo  rio : 

Tu  sol,  cbe  la  creastt,  esser  quel  puoi. 

D/  Dante  dico,  cbe  mal  conosciute 

Fur  F  opre  suo  da  quel  popolo  tngrato, 

Cbe  solo  a9  iusti  manca  di  salute. 

Fuss9  to  pur  lui !  c  a  talfortuna  nato, 

Per  I9  aspro  esilio  suo,  con  la  virtute, 

Dare9  del  mondo  ilpm  felice  stato. 


A  SELECTION   FROM  THE  SONNETS 

OF  MICHELANGELO 

BUONARROTI 

TRANSLATION 


ROM  heaven  he  came,  and  clothed 

in  mortal  clay, 
traversed    the    vengeful   and 

the  chastening  woes, 
living,    again    toward   height 

eternal  rose, 
For  us  to  win  the  light  of  saving  day ; 
Resplendent  star,  whose  undeserved  ray 
Made  glory  in  the  nest  where  I  had  birth ; 
Whose  recompense  not  all  a  stained  earth, 
J$ut  'Thou  his  Maker,  Thou  alone  couldst  pay. 
Dante  I  mean,  and  that  unfair  return 
Endured  from  a  community  ingrate, 
That  only  to  the  just  awardeth  scorn ; 
Would  I  were  he  !  To  equal  fortune  born, 
For  his  pure  virtue,  for  his  exile  stern, 
I  would  resign  earth's  happiest  estate. 


II 

DA  che  concetto  ha  I9  arte  intera  e  diva 
La  forma  e  gli  atti  d9  alcun,  poi  di  quello 
D9  umil  materia  un  semplice  modello 
6  '/  primo  par  to  che  da  quel  deriva. 
Ma  nel  secondo  pot  di  pietra  viva 
S*  adempion  le  promesse  del  martello  ; 
E  si  rinasce  tal  concetto  e  bello, 
Che  ma9  non  e  chi  suo  eterno  prescriva. 
Simtl,  di  me  model,  nacqu9  io  da  .prima ; 
Di  me  model,  per  cosa  piu  perfetta 
Da  voi  rinascer  poi,  donna  alta  e  degna. 
Se  V  poco  a  cere  see,  e  V  mio  superchio  lima 
Vostra  pieta  ;  qual  penitenzia  aspetta 
M/0  fiero  ardor,  se  mi  gastiga  e  insegna  ? 

in 

NON  ba  r  ottimo  artista  alcun  concetto, 

Ch9  un  marmo  solo  in  se  non  circonscriva 

Col  suo  sovercbio  ;  e  solo  a  quello  arriva 

"La  man  cbe  ubbidisce  air  intelletto. 

\l  mal  cb9  io  fuggo,  e  V  ben  ch1  io  mi  prometto, 

In  te,  donna  leggiadra,  a  It  era  e  diva, 

'Tal  si  nasconde  ;  e  perch9  io  piu  non  viva, 

Qontraria  bo  I9  arte  al  disiato  ejfetto. 

Amor  dunque  non  ba,  ne  tua  beltate, 

O  durezza,  o  for  tuna,  o  gran  disdegno, 

Del  mio  mal  colpa,  o  mio  destiho  o  sorte ; 

Se  dentro  del  tuo  cor  morte  e  pietate 

Porti  in  un  tempo,  e  cbe  V  mio  basso  ingegno 

Non  sappia,  ardendo,  trarne  altro  che  morte. 

4 


II 

SOME  deed  or  form  of  our  humanity 
When  genius  hath  conceived  of  art  divine, 
Her  primal  birth,  an  incomplete  design, 
Is  shaped  in  stuff  of  humble  quality. 
More  late,  in  living  marble' 's  purity 
The  chisel  keepeth  promise  to  the  full ; 
Reborn  is  the  idea  so  beautiful, 
That  it  belongeth  to  eternity. 
So  me  did  Nature  make  the  model  rude, 
The  model  of  myself,  a  better  thing 
By  nobleness  of  thine  to  be  renewed'; 
If  thy  compassion,  its  work  cherishing, 
Enlarge,  and  pare ;  mine  ardor  unsubdued 
Awaiteth  at  thy  hand  what  chastening  ! 

in 

THE  chief  of  artists  can  imagine  nought, 
Other  than  form  that  hideth  in  a  stone, 
Below  its  surface  veiled ;  here  alone 
Arriveth  hand,  obedient  to  his  thought. 
So,  fair  and  noble  lady,  e'en  in  thee, 
The  good  I  seek,  the  evil  that  I  fly, 
Remain  enveloped ;  whence  reluctant,  I 
Create  my  aspiration's  contrary. 
It  is  not  love,  't  is  not  thy  beauty  fair, 
Ungentle  pride,  thy  fortune  ruling  so, 
Nor  destiny  of  mine,  that  hath  to  bear 
The  censure,  if  my  genius  faint  and  low, 
While  Death  and  'Pity  both  thou  dost  conceal, 
Though  passioned,  can  only  Death  reveal. 

5 


IV 

COM*  esser,  donna,  pub  quel  ch'  alcun  vede 

Per  lunga  sperienza,  che  piu  dura 

I/  immagin  viva  in  pietra  alpestra  e  dura, 

Che  'I  suo  fattor,  che  gli  anni  in  cener  riede  ? 

La  causa  air  effetto  inclina  e  cede, 

Onde  dair  arte  e  vinta  la  natura. 

10  V  so,  che  V  provo  in  la  bella  scultura ; 

Ch*  all9  opra  il  tempo  e  morte  non  tien  fede. 

~Dunque  posso  ambo  not  dar  lunga  vita 

In  qual  sie  modo,  o  di  color  e  o  sasso, 

Di  not  sembrando  /'  uno  e  I'  altro  volto  : 

S/  che  milt  anni  dopo  la  partita 

Quanta  e  voi  bella  fusti,  e  quant'  io  lasso 

Si  veggia,  e  com'  amarvi  io  non  fui  stolto. 


Io  mi  son  caro  assai  piu  cV  io  non  soglio  ; 
Poi  cV  io  f  ebbi  nel  cor,  piu  di  me  vaglio  : 
Come  pietra  cb'  aggiuntovi  /'  intaglio, 
6  di  piu  pregio  che  V  suo  primo  scoglio. 
O  come  scritta  o  pinta  carta  o  foglio, 
Piu  si  riguarda  d9  ogni  straccio  o  taglio ; 
Tal  di  me  fo,  da  poi  cV  io  fui  bersaglio 
Segnato  dal  tuo  viso :  e  non  mi  doglio. 
Sicur  con  tale  stampa  in  ogni  loco 
Vo,  come  quel  c'  ha  incanti  o  arme  seco, 
Cb'  ogni  periglio  gli  fan  venir  meno. 
I'  vaglio  contro  all9  acqua  e  contro  alfoco, 
Col  segno  tuo  rallumino  ogni  cieco, 
E  col  mio  sputo  sano  ogni  veleno. 
6 


IV 

How,  lady,  can  the  mind  of  man  allow, 
What  lapse  of  many  ages  bath  made  known, 
That  image  shapen  of  pure  mountain  stone 
Outlive  the  life  that  did  with  life  endow  ? 
before  effect  the  very  cause  doth  bow, 
And  Art  is  crowned  in  Nature's  deep  despair. 
I  know,  and  prove  it,  carving  form  so  fair, 
That  Time  and  Death  admire,  and  break  their 

vow. 

Power ,  therefore,  I  possess,  to  grant  us  twain 
Estate,  in  color,  or  in  marble  cold, 
That  spent  a  thousand  summers,  shall  remain 
The  face  of  either,  and  all  eyes  behold 
How  thou  wert  beautiful,  and  gaze  on  me, 
Weary,  yet  justified  in  loving  thee. 

v 

I  FEEL  myself  more  precious  than  of  yore, 
Now  that  my  life  thy  signature  doth  show, 
As  gem  inscribed  with  its  intaglio 
}Lxcelleth  pebble  it  appeared  before, 
Or  writ  or  painted  page  is  valued  more 
Than  idle  leaf  discarded  carelessly  ; 
So  I,  the  target  of  thine  archery, 
Grow  proud  of  marks  I  need  not  to  deplore. 
Signed  with  thy  seal,  in  confidence  I  dwell, 
As  one  who  jour ne^eth  in  woundless  mail, 
Or  hath  his  way  protected  by  a  spell ; 
O'er  fire  and  flood  I  equally  prevail, 
Do  works  of  healing  by  the  signet's  might, 
Poison  allay,  and  yield  the  blind  their  sight. 

7 


VI 

QUANTO  si  gode,  lieta  e  ben  contesta 

D/  far,  sopra9  crin  d9  or  d9  una,  grillanda ; 

Che  f  altro  inanzi  I'  uno  a/I9  altro  manda, 

Come  ch9  il  primo  sia  a  baciar  la  testa  ! 

Contenta  e  tutto  il  giorno  quella  vesta 

Che  serra  Y  petto,  e  poi  par  che  si  spanda ; 

E  que I  c9  oro  filato  si  domanda 

L£  guanci9  e  Y  collo  di  toe  car  non  rest  a. 

Ma  piu  lieto  quel  nastro  par  che  goda, 

Dorato  in  punta,  con  si  fatte  tempre, 

Che  pr erne  e  tocca  il  petto  ch9  egli  allaccia. 

E  la  schietta  cintura  che  s9  annoda 

M/  par  dir  seco :  qui  vo9  stringier  sempre  ! 

Or  che  farebbon  dunche  le  mie  braccia? 

VII 

SE  nel  volto  per  gli  occhi  il  cor  si  vede, 
Altro  segnio  non  ho  piu  manifesto 
Delia  mie  fiamma :  addunche  basti  or  questo, 
Signior  mie  caro,  a  domandar  mercede. 
Forse  lo  spirto  tuo,  con  maggior  fede 
Ch9  io  non  credo,  che  sguarda  il  foco  onesto 
Che  m9  arde,  fie  di  me  pietoso  e  presto ; 
Come  grazia  ch9  abbonda  a  chi  ben  chiede. 
O  felice  quel  di,  se  questo  e  certo  ! 
Fermisi  in  un  momenta  il  tempo  e  I9  ore, 
I/  giorno  e  il  sol  nella  su9  antica  traccia  ; 
Accio  ch9  i9  abbi,  e  non  gia  per  mie  merto, 
II  desiato  mie  dolce  signore 
Per  sempre  nell9  indegnie  e  pronte  braccia. 
8 


VI 

THE  blossom-twined  garland  of  her  hair 

T>elighteth  so  to  crown  her  sunny  tress, 

That  flowers  one  before  the  other  press 

To  be  the  first  to  kiss  that  forehead  fair  ; 

Her  gown  all  day  puts  on  a  blithesome  air, 

Qlingeth,  then  flow  eth  free  for  happiness  ; 

Her  meshed  net  rejoiceth  to  caress 

The  cheek  whereby  it  lies,  and  nestle  there ; 

More  fortunate,  her  golden-pointed  lace 

Taketh  her  breathing  in  as  close  a  hold 

As  if  it  cherished  what  it  may  enfold ; 

And  simple  zone  that  doth  her  waist  embrace 

Seemetb    to  plead :    "  Here    give    me    leave    to 

stay  !  " 
What  would  my  arms  do,  if  they  had  their  way  ? 

VII 

IF  eyes  avail  heart-passion  to  declare, 
My  love  requires  no  more  explicit  sign, 
For  eloquent  enow  are  looks  of  mine, 
O  dear  my  mistress,  to  convey  my  prayer. 
'Perchance,  more  credulous  than  I  believe, 
Thou  seest  how  purely  doth  my  passion  burn, 
And  now  art  ready  toward  desire  to  turn, 
As  he  whoasketh  mercy  must  receive. 
If  so  befall,  on  that  thrice  happy  day 
Let  course  of  time  be  suddenly  complete, 
The  sun  give  over  his  primeval  race ; 
That  through  no  merit  of  my  own,  I  may 
henceforth  forever,  my  desired  sweet 
\n  these  unworthy,  eager  arms  embrace  ! 

9 


VIII 

SPIRTO  ben  nato,  in  cul  si  speccbia  e  vede 
Nelle  tuo  belle  membra  oneste  e  care 
Quant  e  natura  e  'I  del  tra  no'  pub  fare, 
Quand'  a  null'  a  lira  suo  bell9  opra  cede  : 
Spirto  leggiadro,  in  cut  si  spera  e  crede 
Dentro,  come  di  fuor  nel  viso  appare, 
Amor,  pieta,  merce ;  cose  si  rare, 
Che  ma'  f urn'  in  belt  a  con  tanta  fede  : 
L'  amor  mi  prende,  e  la  belta  mi  lega ; 
La  pieta,  la  merce  con  dold  sguardi 
Ferma  speranz'  al  cor  par  che  ne  doni. 
Qual  uso  o  qual  governo  al  mondo  niega, 
Qual  crudelta  per  tempo,  o  qual  piu  tardi, 
C'  a  si  bel  viso  morte  non  perdoni  ? 

IX 

DIMMI  di  grazia,  amor,  se  gli  occhi  met 
Veggono  'I  ver  della  belta  cb'  aspiro, 
O  s'  io  I'  ho  dentro  allor  che,  dov'  io  miro, 
Veggio  piu  bello  el  viso  di  costei. 
Tu  'I  de'  saper,  po'  che  tu  vien  con  lei 
A  torm'  ogni  mie  pace,  ond'  io  m'  adiro ; 
Ne  vorre'  manco  un  minimo  sospiro, 
N*  men  ardente  foco  chiederei. 
La  belta  che  tu  vedi  e  ben  da  quella ; 
Ma  crescie  poi  ch'  a  miglior  loco  sale, 
S*  per  gli  occhi  mortali  all'  alma  corre. 
Quivi  si  fa  divina,  ones  t  a  e  bella, 
Com'  a  se  simil  vuol  cosa  immortale  : 
Questa,  e  non  quella,  a  gli  occhi  tuo'  precorre. 
io 


VIII 

O  SPIRIT  nobly  born,  wherein  we  see 
Through  all  thy  members  innocent  and  dear, 
As  if  reflected  in  a  mirror  clear, 
What  tteaven  and  Nature  can  make  life  to  be ; 
O  spirit  gentle,  where  by  faith  we  know 
Indwell  what  doth  thy  countenance  declare, 
"Love,  Mercy,  and  Compassion,  things  so  rare, 
That  never  beauty  hath  combined  them  so ; 
The  love  to  charm,  the  beauty -to  retain, 
The  tenderness,  the  pity,  to  uphold 
By  glances  mild  the  soul  that  doubteth  grace ; 
What  mortal  law,  what  custom  doth  ordain, 
What  doom  unmerciful  to  young  or  old, 
That  Death  may  not  forgive  so  fair  a  face  ? 

IX 

"  LOVE,  be  my  teacher,  of  thy  courtesy ; 
The  beauty,  whither  my  regards  aspire, 
Doth  it  exist  ?  Or  is  what  I  admire 
yiade  beautiful  by  force  of  fantasy  ? 
Thou,  Love,  must  know,  who  in  her  company 
Arrivest  oft  to  vex  me  with  desire, 
Although  I  would  not  choose  to  quench  the  fire, 
Abate  its  glow,  nor  part  with  any  sigh." 
u  The  beauty  thou  hast  seen  from  her  did  shine, 
And  meet  thy  mortal  vision ;  but  its  ray 
Ascended  to  the  soul,  a  better  place ; 
There  seemed  she  lovely,  for  a  thing  divine 
Hath  joy  of  its  own  image ;  in  this  way 
Came  beauty  thou  beholdest  in  her  face" 

II 


NON  posso  altra  figura  immaginarmi, 
O  di  nud9  ombra  o  di  terrestre  spoglia, 
Col  piii  alto  pensier,  tal  che  mie  voglia 
Contra  la  tuo  belta  di  quella  s9  armi. 
Che,  da  te  mosso,  tanto  sciender  parmi, 
Ch9  amor  d9  ogni  valor  mi  priva  e  spoglia ; 
Ond9  a  pensar  di  minuir  mie  doglia, 
Ttuplicando,  la  morte  viene  a  darmi. 
Pero  non  val  cbe  piu  sproni  mie  fuga, 
Doppiando  V  corso  alia  belta  nemica ; 
Che  il  men  da  I  piu  velocie  non  si  s  cost  a. 
Amor  con  le  sue  man  gli  occbi  m'  asciuga^ 
Promettendomi  car  a  ogni  fatica ; 
Cbe  vile  esser  non  pub  cbi  tanto  costa. 

XI 

LA  vita  del  mie  amor  non  e  V  cor  mio^ 

Ch9  amor,  di  quel  ch9  io  t9  amo,  e  senza  core ; 

Dov9  e  cos  a  mortal  piena  d9  err  ore, 

Esser  non  pub  gia  ma9,  ne  pensier  rio. 

Amor  nel  dipartir  I9  alma  da  Dio 

Me  fe9  san  occbio,  e  te  luc9  e  splendor  e ; 

N2  pub  non  rivederlo  in  quel  che  muore 

D/  te,  per  nostro  mal,  mie  gran  disio. 

Come  dalfoco  el  caldo  esser  diviso 

N0«  pub,  dal  bell9  etterno  ogni  mie  stima, 

Ch9  esalta,  ond9  ella  vien,  cbi  piu  V  somiglia. 

Tu  c9  bai  negli  occbi  tutto  9l  paradiso, 

Per  ritornar  la  dov9  i9  t9  ama9  prima, 

Ricorro  ardendo  sott9  alle  tuo  ciglia. 

12 


MY  strong  imagination  cannot  make 

'Prom  solid  earth  or  air  of  reverie, 

The  form  of  beauty,  that  my  will  can  take 

To  be  its  shield  and  armor  against  thee. 

Abandoned,  I  decline,  till  everything 

"Doth  vanish,  that  I  am  and  I  possess ; 

The  thought  that  haply  I  may  suffer  less, 

~Destroyeth  me  beyond  all  suffering. 

No  hope  of  safety,  when  to  turn  and  Jlee 

Will  only  speed  an  enemy9 s  career ; 

The  slower  from  the  fleeter  cannot  strays 

Yet  Love  consoleth  and  caresseth  me, 

"Declaring  that  my  toil  may  yet  be  dear  ; 

A  thing  so  costly  is  not  thrown  away. 

XI 

MY  love  doth  use  no  dwelling  in  the  heart, 

Eut  maketh  mansion  only  in  the  soul ; 

He  entereth  not  where  sinful  hopes  control, 

Where  error  and  mortality  have  part. 

From  source  in  God  commanded  to  depart, 

Myself  He  made  the  eye,  the  lustre,  thee ; 

I  cannot  choose  but  His  eternal  see, 

In  what,  alas  !  is  thy  decaying  part. 

N0  more  may  fire  be  sundered  from  its  heat, 

Than  my  desire  from  that  celestial  Fair 

Whence  thine  derives,  wherewith  it  doth  compare ; 

My  soul,  enkindled,  maketh  her  retreat 

To  primal  home,  where  love  did  first  arise, 

The  Paradise  secluded  in  thine  eyes. 

13 


XII 

I'  MI  credetti,  il  prlmo  giorno  cb9  io 

M/tt?'  tante  bellezze  uniche  e  sole, 

Fermar  gli  occbi,  com9  aquila  nel  sole, 

Nella  minor  di  tante  cb9  i   desio. 

Po9  conosciut9  bo  il  fallo  e  I9  erro  mio ; 

Cbe  chi  senz9  ale  un  angel  seguir  vole, 

I/  seme  a9  sassi,  al  vento  le  parole 

Indarno  ispargie,  e  f  intelletto  a  D/0. 

Duncbe,  sy  appresso  il  cor  non  mi  sopporta 

L'  infinita  belta,  cbe  gli  occbi  abbaglia^ 

N£  di  Ionian  par  m*  assicuri  o  fidi; 

Cbe  fie  di  me?  qual  guida  o  quale  scoria 

Fie  cbe  con  teco  ma9  mi  giovi  o  vaglia, 

S'  appresso  m9  ardi^  e  nel  partir  m9  uccidi  ? 

XIII 

VEGGIO  co9  bei  vostri  occhi  un  dolce  lume^ 
Cbe  co9  mm  ciecbi  gia  veder  non  posso ; 
Porto  co9  vostri  piedi  un  pondo  a  dosso^ 
Cbe  de   mie9  zoppi  non  e  gia  costume ; 
Volo  con  le  vostr9  ale  senza  plume ; 
Col  vostr9  ingegno  al  del  sempre  son  mosso; 
Dal  vostr9  arbitrio  son  pallido  e  rosso ; 
Freddo  al  sol,  caldo  alle  piu  fredde  brume. 
NW  voter  vostro  e  sol  la  voglia  mia^ 
I  mie9  pensier  nel  vostro  cor  si  fanno^ 
NW  vostro  fiato  son  le  mi  a  parole. 
Come  luna  da  se  sol  par  cb9  io  sia ; 
Che  gli  occbi  nostri  in  del  veder  non  sanno 
Se  non  quel  tanto  cbe  n9  accende  il  sole. 

H 


XII 

I  DEEMED  w ben  erst  upon  my  prospect  shone 

The  mateless  splendor  of  thy  beauty* s  day, 

That  as  an  eagle  seeks  the  sun  alone, 

I  might  have  rested  only  on  a  ray. 

With  lapse  of  time,  mine  error  have  I  known, 

For  who  would  soar  in  angels9  company, 

On  stony  ground  his  idle  seed  hath  sown, 

Lost  words  in  air,  and  thought  in  deity. 

If  near  at  ban  ft,  I  may  not  well  abide 

Thy  brilliancy  that  overcometh  sight, 

And  far,  appear  to  leave  consoling  light, 

Ah,  what  shall  I  become  ?    what  friend,  what 

guide, 

Will  render  aid,  or  plead  my  cause  with  thee, 
If  either  thou  consumes  t  or  grievest  me  ? 

XIII 

WITH  thy  clear  eyes  I  view  a  radiance  fair, 
before  to  my  blind  vision  quite  unknown ; 
I  carry  with  thy  feet  a  weight,  mine  own, 
Of  halting  steps,  were  never  free  to  bear  ; 
Upon  thy  wings  I  soar  to  heaven,  and  there 
By  thy  swift  genius  are  its  glories  shown ; 
I  pale  and  redden  at  thy  choice  alone, 
Grow  chill  in  sunlight,  warm  in  frosty  air. 
Thy  will  is  evermore  my  sole  desire, 
Within  thy  heart  conceived  each  wish  of  mine, 
My  accents  framed  purely  of  thy  breath ; 
Like  to  the  moon  am  I,  that  hath  no  fire, 
But  only  is  beheld  in  heaven  to  shine 
According  as  the  sun  illumineth. 

15 


XIV 

S'  UN  casto  amor,  i  una  pieta  superna, 
S'  una  fortuna  infra  dua  amanti  equale, 
S'  un'  aspra  sorte  alf  un  dell'  altro  cale, 
S'  un  spirto,  s'  un  voter  duo  cor  governa ; 
S'  uny  anima  in  duo  corpi  e  fatta  eterna, 
Kmbo  levando  al  cielo  e  con  pari  ale ; 
S'  amor  d'  un  colpo  e  a"  un  dorato  strale 
Le  viscier  di  duo  petti  arda  e  discierna ; 
S'  amar  I'  un  /'  altro,  e  nessun  se  medesmo, 
D'  un  gusto  e  d*  un  diletto,  a  tal  mercede, 
C'  a  un  fin  voglia  /'  uno  e  V  altro  porre ; 
Se  mille  e  mille  non  sarien  centesmo 
A  tal  nodo  a"  amore,  a  tanta  fede ; 
E  sol  I*  isdegnio  il  puo  romper  e  e  s  dor  re  ? 

xv 

PERCHfe  tuo  gran  bel/ezze  al  mondo  sieno 
In  donna  piu  cortese  e  manco  dura, 
Prego  se  ne  ripigli  la  natura 
Tutte  quelle  ch9  ogn'  or  ti  vengon  meno  ; 
E  serbi  a  riformar  del  tuo  sereno 
E  divin  volto  una  gientil  figura 
Del  del,  e  sia  d*  amor  perpetua  cura 
Rifarne  un  cor  di  grazia  e  pieta  pieno. 
E  serbi  poi  i  miei  sospiri  ancora, 
E  le  lacrime  sparte  insieme  accoglia, 
E  doni  a  cbi  quella  ami  un9  a  lira  volt  a. 
Forse  a  pieta  chi  nasciera  'n  quell  'or a 
"La  movera  con  la  mie  propria  doglia ; 
Ne  fia  persa  la  grazia  cV  or  m*  e  tolta. 
16 


XI  V 

IF  one  chaste  love,  one  sacred  piety, 

One  fortune  shared  'twixt  two  lovers  so, 

That  either9 s  care  from  heart  to  heart  may  flow, 

Impelled  by  one  desire,  one  energy ; 

If  bodies  both  are  by  one  soul  controlled, 

That  winged  bears  them  up  to  heaven's  gate ; 

If  love,  with  one  essay,  doth  penetrate 

And  burn  two  bosoms  with  one  shaft  of  gold ; 

If  living  each  in  other,  self  forgot, 

One  liking,  one  felicity,  awake 

One  will  to  move  toward  one  desired  lot ; 

If  thousand  ties  as  holy,  fail  to  make 

A  thousandth  part ;   the  consecrated  knot, 

Shall  pride,  and  pride  alone,  avail  to  break  ? 

xv 

THAT  womanhood  more  tender  and  less  cold 
Be  clothed  with  beauty  equal  and  the  same, 
I  pray  that  heaven  may  from  thee  reclaim 
Her  gifts,  that  hourly  perish  and  grow  old, 
Of  thy  serene  and  radiant  face  remould 
A  gentle  heavenly  form,  and  \j)ve  assign 
The  task  to  store  a  heart  more  mild  than  thine 
With  mercies  sweet  and  charities  untold. 
My  sighs  let  him  preserve,  from  every  place 
My  fallen  wasted  tears  unite  again, 
And  on  the  friend  of  this  new  fair  bestow. 
Thus  may  befall,  that  he  who  sues  for  grace 
Compassion  shall  awaken  by  my  pain, 
And  love  that  I  have  lost  be  garnered  so. 

17 


XVI 

LA  ragion  meco  si  lamenta  e  dole, 
Parte  cb9  ?  spero  amando  esser  felice ; 
Con  forti  esempli  e  con  vere  parole 
"La  mie  vergognia  mi  ramenta,  e  dice : 
Che  ne  riportera9  dal  vivo  sole, 
Altro  cbe  morte  ?  e  non  come  fenice. 
Mtf  poco  giova  :   cbe  chi  cader  vuole, 
Non  basta  I9  altrui  man  pront9  e  vitrice. 
I'  conosco  e  mie9  danni,  e  V  vero  intendo : 
Da/I'  alia  banda,  albergo  tin  altro  core, 
Che  piu  m9  uccide  dove  piu  m9  arrendo. 
In  mezzo  di  due  mort9  e  V  mie  signiore ; 
Questa  non  voglio,  e  questa  non  comprendo  : 
Cost  sospeso,  il  corpo  e  I9  alma  muore. 

XVII 

NON  so  se  s'  e  la  desiata  luce 

"Del  suo  primo  fattor,  che  I9  alma  sente  ; 

O  se  dalla  memoria  della  gente 

Alcun'  altra  belta  nel  cor  trainee ; 

O  se  fama  o  se  sognio  alcun  prodduce 

Agli  occhi  manifesto,  al  cor  presente ; 

D/  se  lasciando  un  non  so  che  cocente, 

Cb*  e  forse  or  quel  ch*  a  pianger  mi  conduce ; 

Quel  cb'  ?  sento  e  ch9  i9  cerco  :  e  chi  mi  guidi 

Meco  non  e ;   ne  so  ben  veder  dove 

Trovar  mel  possa,  e  par  c9  altri  mel  mostri. 

Questo,  signior,  m9  avvien,  po   cb9  i9  vi  vidi ; 

C'  un  dolce  amaro,  un  si  e  no  mi  muove : 

Certo  saranno  stati  gli  occhi  vostri. 


XVI 

As  oft  as  I  am  free  to  nourish  faith 

That  in  my  love  may  lie  my  happiness, 

With  wisdom  old  and  word  of  soberness 

humility  reproveth  me,  and  saith  : 

"  What  canst  thou  hope  within  the  vivid  sun, 

Save  be  consumed,  and  find  no  Phcenix-birth  ?  " 

\n  vain ;  for  helping  hand  is  nothing  worth 

T0  rescue  life  that  fain  would  be  undone. 

I  hear  her  warn,  my  peril  understand, 

Yet  inwardly  discern  a  heart  concealed, 

That  tortureth  the  more,  the  more  I  yield ; 

Between  two  Deaths  my  lady  seems  to  stand, 

One  mystical,  one  hateful  to  espy ; 

Irresolute,  both  soul  and  body  die. 

XVII 

I  KNOW  not  if  it  be  the  longed-for  light 
Of  its  Creator,  that  the  soul  doth  feel, 
Or  long-retentive  Memory  reveal 
Some  creature-beauty,  dwelling  inly  bright ; 
Or  if  a  history,  a  dream,  I  keep 
To  eyes  apparent,  treasured  in  the  heart, 
Whereof  ferment  eth  some  uneasy  part, 
That  now,  perchance,  inclineth  me  to  weep  ; 
I  long,  I  seek,  and  find  not  any  guide, 
N0r  whither,  of  myself  have  wit  to  know, 
Yet  vague  perceive  a  presence  point  the  way ; 
Such  life  I  lead  since  thee  my  looks  espied, 
From  bitter  change  to  sweet,  from  aye  to  no ; 
I  think,  thine  eyes  lent  that  enkindling  ray. 

'9 


XVIII 

PERCH!:  ¥ebo  non  tore9  e  non  distende 

D'  intorn9  a  questo  globo  fredd9  e  molle 

Le  braccia  sua  lucenti,  el  vulgo  voile 

Notte  cbiamar  quel  sol  cbe  non  comprende. 

E  tan?  e  debol,  cbe  s9  alcun  accende 

\Jn  picciol  torchio,  in  quella  parte  tolle 

La  vita  dalla  nott9 ;  e  tant9  e  folle, 

Che  I9  esc  a  col  fucil  la  squarcia  e  fende. 

E  se  gli  e  pur  cbe  qualcbe  cosa  sia, 

Cert9  e  figlia  del  sol  e  della  terra ; 

Che  I9  un  tien  I9  ombra,  e  I9  altro  sol  la  cria. 

Ma  sia  che  vuol,  cbe  pur  chi  la  loda  erra ; 

Vedova,  scur9,  in  tant  a  gelosia, 

Cb9  una  lucciola  sol  gli  pub  far  guerra. 

XIX 

O  NOTT',  o  dolce  tempo  benche  nero 
(Con  pace  ogn9  opra  sempr9  al  Jin  assaltd), 
l&en  ved9  e  ben  intende  chi  t9  esalta ; 
E  chi  t9  onor9,  ha  I9  intellett9  intero. 
Tu  mozzi  e  troncbi  ogni  stanco  pensiero ; 
Che  I9  umid9  ombra  ogni  quiet9  appalta : 
E  dall9  infima  parte  alia  piu  a  It  a 
In  sogno  spesso  porti  ov9  ire  spero. 
O  ombra  del  morir,  per  cui  si  ferma 
Ogni  miseria  ?  alma  al  cor  nemica^ 
Ultimo  delli  afflitti  e  buon  rimedio; 
Tu  rendi  sana  nostra  earn9  inferma^ 
Rasciug9  i  pianti,  e  posi  ognifatica, 
Efuri  a  chi  ben  vive  ogn9  ir9  e  tedio. 
20 


XVIII 

WHEN  Pbcebus  bath  no  mind  to  strain  and  press 

Our  chilly  sphere  in  his  embraces  bright, 

His  negligence  the  multitude  call  Night, 

A  name  of  absence,  till  be  glow  again. 

So  impotent  is  she,  so  weak  and  vain, 

That  kindle  up  a  torch,  its  petty  light 

"Doth  work  her  death ;  and  frame  she  hath  so 

slight, 

That  fashing  of  a  flint  will  rend  in  twain. 
If  Night  in  her  own  self  be  anything, 
Call  her  the  daughter  of  the  Earth  and  Sun, 
The  last  creating,  first  receiving  shade. 
Be  what  she  may,  how  glorify  a  thing 
^Widowed,  dim-eyed,  so  easily  undone, 
That  glowworm's  lantern  turneth  her  afraid  ? 

XIX 

O  NIGHT,  O  season  in  thy  darkness  sweet 
(For  every  toil  falls  peaceful  to  its  close), 
lie  deemeth  well  who  laudeth  thy  repose, 
And  who  exalt eth,  payeth  homage  meet. 
Thy  dewy  shade,  with  quiet  falling  slow, 
"Divides  the  fret  of  never-pausing  thought ; 
From  deep  of  being  to  the  summit  brought, 
In  dream  thou  guidst  me  where  I  hope  to  go. 
Shadow  of  "Death,  the  safe  protecting  gate 
barred  by  the  soul  against  her  hunter  Grief, 
Of  human  woe  the  final,  only  cure ; 
The  fever  of  the  blood  dost  thou  abate, 
Dry  lingering  tears,  give  weariness  relief, 
And  anger  steal  from  him  who  liveth  pure. 

21 


XX 

NON  vlder  gli  occbl  mm  cosa  mortale 
Allor  cbe  ni  bel  vostrl  intera  pace 
Trovai ;  ma  dentro,  ov'  ogni  mal  displace, 
Qbi  a"  amor  /'  alma  a  se  simil  m*  assale. 
E  se  creata  a  Dio  non  fusse  eguale, 
Altro  cbe  V  bel  di  fuor,  ch*  agli  occhi  place, 
Piu  non  vorrla ;  ma  perch'  e  si  fallace, 
Trascende  nella  forma  universale. 
10  dlco,  cV  a  cbl  vlve  quel  cbe  muore 
Quetar  non  puo  disir ;  ne  par  s'  aspettl 
L*  eterno  al  tempo,  ove  altrl  cangla  II  pelo, 
Voglia  sfrenata  el  senso  e,  non  amore, 
Che  r  alma  ucclde ;  e  '/  nostro  fa  perfetti 
Gli  amid  qui,  ma  piu  per  morte  in  clelo. 

XXI 

PER  rltornar  la  donde  venne  fora, 
L'  immortal  forma  al  tuo  career  terreno 
Venne  com'  angel  dl  pieta  si  pleno 
Che  sana  ogn'  intelletto,  e  V  mondo  onora. 
Questo  sol  m*  arde,  e  questo  m?  Innamora  ; 
Non  pur  dl  fora  II  tuo  volto  sereno : 
Ch*  amor  non  gla  dl  cosa  cbe  men  meno 
'Tien  ferma  speme,  In  cu*  virtu  dimora. 
Ne  altro  avvlen  dl  cose  alt  ere  e  nuove 
In  cul  si  preme  la  natura ;  e  '/  clelo 
£  cV  a  lor  parto  largo  s'  appareccbia. 
Ne  D/0,  suo  grazla,  ml  si  mostra  altrove, 
Piu  cbe  *n  alcun  leggladro  e  mortal  veto ; 
E  quel  sol  amo,  per  cbe  'n  quel  si  speech  ia. 

22 


XX 


MINE  eyes  beheld  no  perishable  thing, 

When  holy  peace  I  found  in  orbs  of  thine, 

And  inwardly  obtained  a  hope  divine, 

A  joy  my  kindred  soul  enamoring. 

\3nless  create  God's  equal,  to  receive 

Equality  with  Him,  she  might  depend 

On  shows  external ;  because  these  deceive, 

Toward  universal  form  she  doth  transcend. 

"Life  cannot  sate  its  wishes  with  decay, 

N0r  yet  Eternity  commandment  take 

from  years  wherein  we  wither  and  grow  chill; 

'T  is  lust  hath  energy  the  soul  to  slay, 

'Not  love,  that  fain  would  the  beloved  make 

Perfect  on  earth,  in  heaven,  more  perfect  still. 

XXI 

ONE  day  to  rise  toward  height  where  it  began, 
The  form  immortal  to  thine  earthly  cell, 
An  angel  of  compassion,  came  to  dwell 
With  balm  and  healing  for  the  mind  of  man. 
Such  life  it  is  that  doth  thy  life  endear, 
And  not  thy  face  serene,  its  envelope  ; 
In  shadows  that  decline  and  disappear, 
Immortal  Love  cannot  repose  his  hope. 
'T  is  true  of  all  things  marvellous  and  fair, 
Where  Nature  taketh  forethought,  and  the  sky 
Is  bountiful  in  their  nativity ; 
God's  grace  doth  nowhere  else  so  far  prevail 
As  where  it  shineth  through  a  body's  veil ; 
And  that  I  love,  for  He  is  mirrored  there. 


XXII 

SE  V  mie  rozzo  martello  i  duri  sassi 
Forma  d'  uman  aspetto  or  questo  or  quello, 
Dal  ministro,  cV  el  guida  iscorgie  e  tiello 
Prendendo  il  moto,  va  con  gli  altrui  passi : 
Ma  quel  divin,  ck*  in  cielo  alberga  e  stassi, 
Altri,  e  se  piu^  col  proprio  andar  fa  bello ; 
E  se  nessun  martel  senza  martello 
Si  puo  far,  da  quel  vivo  ogni  altro  fassi. 
E  perche  V  colpo  e  di  valor  piu  pieno 
Quant9  alza  piu  se  stesso  alia  fucina, 
Sopra  V  mie,  questo  al  del  n9  e  gito  a  volo. 
Onde  a  me  non  finito  verra  meno, 
S'  or  non  gli  da  la  fabbrica  divina 
Aiuto  a  farlo,  c'  al  mondo  era  solo. 


24 


XXII 

IF  my  rude  hammer  lend  enduring  stone 

Similitude  of  life,  being  swayed  and  plied 

By  arm  of  one  who  doth  its  labor  guide, 

It  moveth  with  a  motion  not  its  own ; 

But  that  on  high,  which  lieth  by  God's  throne, 

Itself,  and  all  beside  makes  beautiful ; 

And  if  no  tool  be  wrought  without  a  tool, 

The  rest  are  fashioned  by  its  power  alone. 

As  falls  a  blow  with  greater  force  and  heat 

"The  further  it  descends,  for  forging  mine, 

The  lifted  hammer  high  as  heaven  flew ; 

Wherefore  mine  own  will  never  be  complete 

Unless  perfected  from  the  forge  divine, 

For  that  which  shaped  it  earth  may  not  renew. 


E  P  I  GR  AM  M  I 


CARO  nf  e  V  sonno,  e  piu  /'  esser  di  sasso, 
Mentre  cbe  V  danno  e  la  vergogna  dura  : 
Non  veder^  non  sentir,  my  e  gran  ventura ; 
Pero  non  mi  destar,  deb  !  par/a  basso. 


II 

lo  dho  a  voi,  cV  al  mondo  avete  data 
L'  anima  e  V  corpo  e  lo  spirito  'nsieme : 
\n  questa  cassa  oscura  e  V  vostro  lato. 


ill 

AMORE  e  un  concetto  di  bellezza 
Immaginata,  cut  sta  dentro  al  core. 
Arnica  di  virtute  e  gentilezza. 

26 


EPIGRAMS 


I 

ON    THE    STATUE    OF    NIGHT    IN 
THE    MEDICEAN    SACRISTY 

SWEET  is  to  sleep,  and  marble  peace  to  know, 
Now,  while  dishonor  and  disgrace  are  near ; 
JT  is  all  my  fortune  not  to  see,  nor  bear ; 
therefore  do  not  awake  me ;  ah  !  speak  low  ! 


II 

LINES    WRITTEN    ON    A    COFFIN 
CARRIED    BY    DEATH 

THOU,  thou,  who  hast  bequeathed  to  the  world 
The  spirit  and  the  body  and  the  soul, 
Here  is  thy  home,  here  in  this  casket  dim. 


ill 

LOVE  e'en  is  an  idea,  that  may  express 
Imagined  beauty,  dwelling  in  the  heart, 
A  friend  of  virtue  and  of  gentleness. 


MADRIGALI 


PER  molti^  donna,  anzi  per  mille  amanti, 

Creata  fusti,  e  d*  angelica  forma. 

Or  par  che  'n  del  si  dorma, 

S'  un  sol  s'  apropia  quel  cb'  e  dato  a  tanti. 

Ritorna  a  nostri  pianti 

\l  sol  degli  occbi  tuo\  che  par  che  schivi 

Chi  del  suo  dono  in  tal  miseria  e  ndto. 

Deb  /  non  turbate  i  vostri  desir  santi : 

Che  chi  di  me  par  che  vi  spogli  e  privi, 

Col  gran  timor  non  gode  il  gran  peccato. 

Che  degli  amanti  e  men  fe lice  stato 

Quello,  ove  V  gran  desir  gran  copia  affrena^ 

C'  una  miseria  di  speranza  plena. 


28 


MADRIGALS 


FLORENTINE    EXILES 

FOR  many,  for  a  thousand  lovers,  thou, 
Lady,  wert  made  of  form  angelical. 
Asleep,  perchance,  lie  sealed  heavens  now, 
White  one  enjoyeth  grant  designed  for  all. 
Ah  render  to  our  sighs 
"The  sunlight  of  thine  eyes, 
"That  shunneth  him,  who  into  sorrow  born, 
Doth  /anguish  of  their  benefit  forlorn  ! 

THE    CITY    OF    FLORENCE 

NAY,  calm  your  holy  aspiration  ;  know 
That  be  who  maketh  you  my  boon  forego, 
In  fear  doth  expiate  his  mighty  crime. 
And  aye  with  lovers  sadder  is  the  time, 
When  love  expireth  of  satiety, 
Than  while  aboundeth  hope  in  misery. 


29 


II 


NON  sempre  al  mondo  e  si  pregtato  e  caro 

Quel  cbe  molti  contenta, 

Che  non  sie  'Icun  cbe  senta, 

Quel  cb'  e  lor  dolce,  spesse  volte  amaro. 

I/  buon  gusto  e  si  raro, 

Cb'  a  forza  al  vulgo  cede, 

Allor  cbe  dentro  di  se  stesso  gode. 

Ona"  io,  perdendo,  imparo 

Quel  che  di  fuor  non  vede 

Chi  r  alma  attrista  e*  suo'  sospir  non  ode. 

I/  mondo  e  cieco,  e  di  suo9  gradi  o  lode 

Piu  giova  a  chi  piu  scar  so  esser  ne  suole  : 

Come  sferza  cbe  'nsegnia,  e  parte  duole. 


Ill 

e  troppo  molesta, 
Ancor  che  dolce  sia, 

La  grazia  c'  altru9  fa  preda  e  prigione  ; 
Mie  liberta,  per  questa 
Tuo  somma  cortesia^ 

Piu  che  d'  un  fufto  al  vero  amor  s*  oppone. 
D/  par  passi  e  ragione : 
Ma  se  I9  un  da  piu  che  t  altro  non  dona, 
£  ben  giusta  quistione  ; 
Cbe  f  un  sormonta,  e  /'  altro  non  perdona. 


II 

HOWEVER  worship-worthy  and  complete 
Be  deemed  a  work  that  many  lovers  know, 
May  live  the  man  who  doth  not  find  it  so, 
deriving  bitter  from  the  lauded  sweet. 
Taste  is  so  rare,  a  thing  so  isolate, 
That  from  the  multitude  it  must  recede, 
Alone  upon  internal  joy  to  feed ; 
Wherefore  in  self  retired,  and  passionate, 
I  see  what  vieweth  not  the  outer  eye, 
Qold  to  the  soul  and  heedless  of  her  sigh. 
The  world  is  blind,  and  from  its  praises  vain 
He  learneth  most  who  freest  doth  remain, 
Suffers,  and  hath  a  lesson  in  his  pain. 


in 

'T  is  burdensome,  however  it  be  sweet, 
The  friendly  boon  that  doth  oblige  the  friend ; 
My  liberty,  thy  courtesy  to  meet, 
Worse  than  if  robbed,  doth  with  true  love  con- 
tend. 

The  soul  of  friendship  is  equality  ; 
\f  friend  more  freely  than  his  fellow  give, 
Ariseth  rivalry; 
The  first  excelleth,  last  doth  not  forgive. 


IV 

ORA  in  sul  destro,  or  a  in  sul  manco  piede 

Variando,  cerco  della  mia  salute  : 

Pra  V  vizio  e  la  virtute 

I/  cor  confuso  mi  travaglia  e  stanca ; 

Come  cbi  V  del  non  vede, 

Che  per  ogni  sentier  si  perde,  e  manca. 

Porgo  la  carta  bianca 

A'  vostri  sacri  incbiostri^ 

Cb9  amor  mi  sganni,  e  pieta  V  ver  ne  scriva . 

Che  r  alma  da  se  franca 

Non  piegbi  a  gli  error  nostri 

Mto  breve  resto,  e  cbe  men  cieco  viva. 

Chie^ggio  a  voi,  alia  e  diva 

Donna ,  saper  se  'n  del  men  grado  tiene   • 

V  umil  peccato  cbe  V  super chio  bene. 


IV 

A  PILGRIM  seeking  my  salvation  still, 

from  foot  to  foot  I  change, 

As  wearily  I  range 

Quite  indeterminate  'twixt  good  and  ill, 

A  stumbling  far er-by, 

Who,  viewless  of  the  sky, 

Doth  lose  his  way  and  wander  at  his  will. 

'The  white  and  vacant  leaf 

Inscribe  with  word  of  thine  ; 

Let  love  and  pity  come  to  my  relief, 

And  liberate  my  soul 

From  dark  and  doubt-control 

F0r  petty  period  that  yet  is  mine. 

iMdy,  I  ask  thy  saintliness  divine, 

If  heaven  on  high  a  lower  seat  provide 

F0r  shamefast  sin,  than  virtue  satisfied? 


33 


GLI  occbi  miei  vaghi  delle  cose  belle, 

E  /'  alma  insieme  della  sua  salute, 

Non  hanno  altra  virtute 

Cb'  ascenda  al  del,  che  mirar  tutte  quelle. 

Dalle  piii  a  lie  stelle 

Discende  uno  splendore, 

Cbe  '/  desir  tira  a  quelle  ; 

E  qui  si  cbiama  amore. 

Ne  altro  ha  gentil  core, 

Cbe  /'  innamori  e  arda,  e  che  V  consigli, 

Cb'  un  volto  cbe  ne  gli  occhi  lor  somigli. 

VI 

SE  dal  cor  lieto  divien  hello  il  volto, 

Dal  tristo  il  brutto ;  e  se  donna  aspra  e  bella 

Ufa,  chi  fie  ma*  quella 

Che  non  ardi  di  me,  com9  io  di  lei? 

Po9  cy  a  destinguer  molto 

Dalla  mie  chiara  Stella 

Da  hello  a  bel  fur  fatti  gli  occhi  met ; 

Contra  se  fa  costei 

Non  men  crudel,  che  spesso 

Dichi :  dal  cor  mie,  smorto  il  volto  viene. 

Che  s'  altri  fa  se  stesso, 

Pingendo  donna;  in  quella 

Che  far  a  po9  se  sconsolato  tiene  ? 

Dune9  anbo  n9  arie  bene, 

Ritrarla  col  cor  lieto  e   I  viso  asciutto ; 

Sefarie  bella,  e  me  non  f arie  brutto. 


34 


MY  glances  pleased  with  everything  that's  fair , 

My  soul  inclined  toward  her  celestial  gain, 

Devoid  of  power  high  heaven  to  attain, 

Can  find  no  way,  save  only  gazing  there. 

Stars  loftiest  above 

A  radiancy  lend, 

Kidding  desire  ascend; 

"That  light  is  here  named  1j)ve. 

Nor  gentle  heart  hath  any  other  friend 

"To  fortify,  enamor,  and  advise, 

Than  countenance  with  star-resembling  eyes. 

VI 

IF  happy  heart  make  beautiful  the  face, 

Rut  sad  heart  foul ;  and  for  a  lady's  sake 

Re  born  the  cause  that  such  effect  doth  make, 

How  hath  she  courage  for  refusing  grace 

To  me,  whose  birth-star  bright 

Accordetb  the  clear  sight 

That  rightly  chooseth  between  fair  and  fair? 

Sure  she  who  hath  my  mind 

Proves  to  herself  unkind, 

My  feature  if  she  render  full  of  care ; 

¥or  if  in  likeness  shown 

A  painter  leaves  his  own, 

Small  loveliness  can  wait 

On  labor  of  a  hand  disconsolate. 

Then  let  her  please  to  favor  mine  estate, 

That  I  may  paint  blithe  heart  and  smiling  eye ; 

She  will  grow  fair,  and  not  unlovely  I. 

35 


VII 

NEGLI  anni  molti  e  nelle  molte  pruove, 

Cercando,  il  saggio  al  buon  concetto  arriva 

D'  un  immagine  viva, 

Vicino  a  morte,  in  pietra  alpestra  e  dura  : 

C'  air  alte  cose  e  nuove 

Tardi  si  viene,  e  poco  poi  si  dura. 

Simi/mente  natura 

D/  tempo  in  tempo,  d*  uno  in  altro  volto, 

S'  al  sommo,  errando,  di  bellezza  e  giunta 

NW  tuo  divino,  e  vecchia,  e  dey  perire. 

Onde  la  tema,  molto 

Con  la  belta  congiunta, 

D/  stranio  cibo  pasce  il  gran  desire : 

N£  so  pensar,  ne  dire, 

Qual  nuoca  o  giovi  piu,  visto  V  tuo  'spetto, 

O  ^l  fin  dell'  universo,  o  'I  gran  diletto. 

VIII 

Si  come  per  levar,  donna,  si  pone 

In  pietra  alpestra  e  dura 

Una  viva  figura, 

Che  la  piu  crescie  u*  piu  la  pietra  scema ; 

Tal  alcun'  opre  buone, 

Per  r  alma  che  pur  trema, 

Cela  il  superchio  della  propria  carne 

Co  I'  inculta  sua  cruda  e  dura  scorza. 

Tu  pur  dalle  mie  streme 

Parti  puo'  sol  levarne ; 

Cb'  in  me  non  e  di  me  voler  ne  forza. 


VII 

YEAR  after  year,  essay  beyond  essay, 

Seeking,  the  lessoned  maker  doth  arrive 

At  the  idea,  he  leaveth  aye  alive 

In  alpine  marble,  though  his  life  be  flown  ; 

For  only  in  the  twilight  of  his  day 

He  reacheth  what  is  noble  and  his  own. 

Thus  Nature,  long  astray 

From  age  to  age,  from  face  to  fairer  face, 

lHath  finally  achieved  thy  perfect  -grace, 

When  she  herself  is  old,  and  near  her  end. 

Therein  I  find  to  dwell 

A  fear,  that  with  thy  loveliness  doth  blend, 

And  my  desire  toward  passion  strange  compel ; 

I  cannot  think  or  tell, 

If  sweet  or  painful  be  thy  beauty  bright, 

The  worlds  conclusion,  or  my  love-delight. 

VIII 

IN  mountain-marble  white, 

Doth  hide  a  statue  bright, 

"That  waxeth  ever  while  the  rock  doth  wane ; 

E'en  so  from  flesh-control 

The  timid  trembling  soul 

Mine  inward  fair  would  liberate  in  vain. 

Lady,  I  look  to  thee 

Alone  to  set  me  free, 

For  in  myself  doth  will  nor  power  remain. 


37 


IX 

SE  d9  una  pietra  viva 

L'  arte  vuol  cbe  qui  viva 

Al  par  degli  anni  il  volto  di  costei ; 

Cbe  dovria  il  del  di  lei, 

Sendo  mie  quest  a,  e  quella  suo  fattura ; 

N*  gia  mortal,  ma  diva, 

Non  solo  a  gli  occbi  mei  ? 

E  pur  si  parte,  e  picciol  tempo  dura. 

Dal  lato  destro  e  zoppa  mie  ventura, 

S'  un  sasso  resta,  e  coste9  morte  affretta. 

Chi  nefara  vendetta  ? 

Natura  W,  se  de9  suo'  nati  sola 

I/  opra  qua  dura^  e  la  suo  V  tempo  invola. 


NON  pur  a"  argento  o  d"  oro^ 

Vinto  dalfoco^  esser  po'  plena  aspetta 

Vota  d9  opra  perfetta 

\M  forma,  che  solfratta  il  tragge  fora  : 

Tal  ioj  colfoco  ancora 

D'  amor  dentro  ristoro 

II  desir  voto  di  belta  infinita, 

D/  costei  ch9  i9  adoro, 

Anima  e  cor  della  mie  fragil  vita. 

Alta  donna  e  gradita 

In  me  discende  per  si  brevi  spazi, 

C'  a  tr aria  fora,  convien  mi  rompa  e  strati. 


IX 

IN  alpine  stone  and  pure 

If  art  may  bid  endure 

Her  countenance  as  long  as  summers  flow ; 

What  period  should  heaven  on  her  bestow, 

Its  own  creation,  radiant  and  free, 

For  others,  as  for  me  ? 

And  yet  is  she  with  fading  life  endued. 

My  Fortune  then  in  her  best  foot  is  lame, 

If  Death  the  substance,  Life  the  semblance  claim. 

On  whom  devolves  the  feud? 

On  Nature's  self,  if  of  her  sons  alone 

The  work  survive,  and  Time  despoil  her  own. 


FOR  silver  or  for  gold, 

After  in  fire  these  have  been  made  to  flow, 

Doth  wait  the  empty  mould, 

That  shattered,  will  the  lovely  image  show ; 

Through  passion-ardor,  so 

My  vacancy  I  store 

With  the  divine  unbounded  loveliness 

Of  her  whom  I  adore, 

The  soul  and  essence  of  my  fragileness, 

Whose  beauty  doth  inpour, 

And  occupy  by  passages  so  strait, 

That  broken  I  must  be  to  liberate. 


39 


XI 

BEATI,  vol  cbe  su  nel  del  godete 

Le  la  crime  cbe  V  mondo  non  r is tor a, 

¥avvi  amor  guerra  ancora, 

O  pur  per  morte  liberi  ne  siete  ? 

La  nostra  eterna  quiete, 

¥uor  a"  ogni  tempo,  e  priva 

D'  invidia  amando,  e  d'  angosciosi  pianti. 

"Duncbe  a  mal  pro  chy  ?  viva 

Convien,  come  vedete^ 

Per  amare  e  servire  in  dolor  tanti. 

Se  V  cielo  e  degli  amanti 

Amico,  e  V  mondo  ingrato 

Amando^  a  cbe  son  nato  ? 

A  viver  molto  ?  E  questo  mi  spaventa  : 

Che  V  poco  e  troppo  a  cbi  ben  serve  e  stenta. 

XII 

NON  pur  la  morte,  ma  V  timor  di  quella 

"Da  donna  iniqua  e  bella, 

Ch'  ogn9  or'  m'  ancide,  mi  difende  e  scampa . 

E  se  taF  or  m9  avvampa 

P/'w  che  V  usato  il  foco  in  cb'  io  son  corso, 

Non  trovo  altro  soccorso 

Cbe  I9  imagin  sua  ferma  in  mezzo  il  core  ; 

Cbe  dove  e  morte  non  s'  appressa  amore. 


40 


XI 

"  O  BLESSED  spirits,  who  in  world's  release 

Are  recompensed  for  tears  it  could  not  pay, 

Tell  me  if  Love  wage  war  on  you  a/way , 

Or  Death  hath  yonder  made  his  quarrel  cease  ?  " 

"  Our  everlasting  peace, 

All  time  beyond,  here  loveth  unacquaint 

With  mortal  lovers9  sorrow  and  complaint" 

"  Then  sad  it  is  for  me 

To  linger,  as  you  see, 

Loving  and  serving  where  my  heart  doth  faint. 

If  Heaven  be  lovers'  friend, 

And  Earth  their  anguish  lend, 

Need  I  live  long  ?    The  thought  doth  came  me 

fear; 
To  wistful  lover  minutes  years  appear" 

XII 

NOT  "Death  alone,  but  his  indwelling  dread 
Doth  succor  and  set  free 
"Prom  sway  of  one  unjust  as  cherished, 
Who  constantly  doth  make  assault  on  me ; 
As  oft  as  flameth  with  unwonted  force 
The  fire  that  folds  me,  I  have  no  resource 
Save  keep  his  image  central  in  the  heart ; 
Where  Death  abides,  Love  hath  not  any  part. 


XIII 

S'  EGLI  e  che  V  buon  desio 

Porti  dal  mondo  a  D/0 

Alcuna  cosa  bella, 

Sol  la  mie  donna  e  quella^ 

A  cbi  ha  gli  occhifatti  corn9  bo  io. 

Qgni  altra  cosa  oblio^ 

E  sol  di  tan?  ho  cur  a. 

N0»  e  gran  maraviglia^ 

S'  io  I'  amo  e  bramo  e  chiamo  a  tutte  t  ore . 

N'  e  proprio  valor  mio^ 

S^  /'  alma  per  natura 

S'  appoggia  a  chi  somiglia 

Ne  gli  occhi  gli  occhi^  ond9  ella  scende  fore  ; 

Se  sente  il  primo  Amore 

Come  suo  fin,  per  quel  qua  questa  onora : 

Ch*  amar  die  V  servo  cb*  el  signore  adora. 


42 


XIII 

IF  any  beauteous  thing 

Can  human  hope  exalt  to  God  on  high, 

For  one  who  hath  the  vision  made  as  I, 

Alone  my  lady  may  like  comfort  bring, 

Wherefore  it  is  not  strange, 

If  from  the  rest  I  range 

To  love  her,  to  pursue  and  supplicate ; 

'T  is  Nature's  law,  not  mine, 

That  bids  the  soul  incline 

Toward  eyes  reminding  of  its  first  estate, 

W 'hereby  it  hath  recourse 

To  its  own  end  and  source, 

The  primal  Love,  that  her  with  beauty  storeth ; 

He  loves  the  vassal,  who  the  lord  adoreth. 


43 


XIV 

QUANTUNCHE  ver  j/tf,  che  f  alta  e  divina 

Pieta  qui  mostri  il  tuo  bel  volto  umano ; 

Donna^  il  placer  lontano 

M*  e  tardi  j},  cbe  dal  tuo  non  mi  parto : 

C'  all9  alma  pellegrina 

Gli  e  duro  ogn9  altro  sentiero  erto  e  arto. 

Ona"  il  tempo  comparto, 

Per  gli  occbi  il  giorno  e  per  la  notte  il  core  ; 

A  r  acque  I'  uno,  a  F  altro  il  foco  ardente; 

Senz'  intervallo  alcun,  cV  al  cielo  aspiri. 

Dal  destinato  parto 

Si  mi  ti  dette  amore, 

Ch*  alzar  non  oso  i  mie*  ardenti  desiri ; 

Se  '/  ver  non  e,  che  tiri 

La  mente  al  del  per  grazia  o  per  mercede : 

Tardi  ama  il  cor  quel  I*  occhio  non  vede. 


XIV 

THOUGH  true  it  be,  that  Charity  divine 
Show  mirrored  in  yon  lovely  face  of  thine, 
Yet,  lady,  moves  the  distant  hope  so  slow, 
That  from  thy  beauty  I  lack  power  to  go ; 
The  pi/grim  soul,  that  would  with  thee  delay, 
Finds  rough  and  stern   the  strait  and  narrow 

way. 

My  time  I  therefore  part, 
To  eyes  give  day,  and  darkness  to  the  heart, 
To  last  the  water,  and  to  first  the  fire, 
N0  interval,  toward  heaven  to  aspire. 
A  destiny  of  birth 
Enchained  me  to  the  earth 
In  grant  of  thee,  save  mercy  of  the  sky 
Please  to  descend,  and  lift  my  heart  on  high ; 
Heart  will  not  love  what  looks  cannot  espy. 


45 


XV 

A  L'  alia  tuo  lucente  diadema 

Per  la  strada  erta  e  lunga 

Non  e,  donna,  cbi  giunga, 

S'  umilta  non  v'  aggiugni  e  cortesia : 

I/  montar  cresce,  e  Y  mie  valore  scema ; 

E  la  lena  mi  manca  a  mezza  via. 

Che  tuo  belta  pur  sia 

Superna,  al  cor  par  cbe  diletto  renda, 

Che  dy  ogni  rara  altezza  e  giotto  e  vago  : 

Po'  per  gioir  della  tuo  leggiadria^ 

Eramo  pur  cbe  discenda 

La  dov'  aggiungo  :  e  *n  tal pensier  m*  appago, 

S^  V  tuo  sdegnio  presago, 

Per  basso  amare  e  alto  odiar  tuo  stato^ 

A  te  stessa  perdona  il  mie  peccato. 


XVI 

DEH  !   dimmi,  amor,  se  /'  alma  di  costei 

Fosse  pie t os a  com*  ba  belly  il  volto, 

S*  alcun  saria  si  stolto 

Ch'  a  se  non  si  togliessi  e  dessi  a  lei  ? 

E/  to  cbe  piu  potrei 

Servirla^  amarla,  se  mi foss*  arnica; 

Che,  sendomi  nemica, 

L'  amo  piu  cby  allorfar  non  doverrei  ? 


XV 

THY  lucent-crowned  beauty  to  attain 

Upon  a  narrow  and  laborious  way, 

"The  pilgrim  vainly  maketh  bis  essay, 

Save  thy  humility  bis  feet  forestall ; 

The  path  aspireth  while  the  strength  doth  wane, 

Ana7  midway  on  the  road  I  pant  and  fall. 

Although  thy  loveliness  celestial 

B*  heaven9 s  thing,  yet  aye  it  doth  delight 

The    heart    inclined   toward    stranger    of   the 

height ; 

Wherefore  thy  sweetness  full  to  comprehend, 
I  long  to  have  thee  stoop,  and  condescend 
As  low  as  I,  of  the  idea  content, 
If  thy  disdain  severe  and  prescient 
Itself  forgive  for  sinfulness  of  mine, 
To  love  thee  lowly,  and  to  hate  divine. 

XVI 

AH  tell  me,  Love,  bad  she  a  heart  as  kind 

As  beauty  that  her  feature  doth  partake, 

Could  there  be  found  the  wretch   so  dull  and 

blind, 

That  would  not  choose  himself  from  self  to  take, 
And  give  to  her  ?  ^et  even  if  she  grew 
My  loving  friend,  what  more  could  I  bestow, 
When  in  her  coldness,  while  she  seems  my  foe, 
I  love  her  better  than  I  else  could  do  ? 


47 


XVII 

COME  pud  esser  ch'  to  non  sia  piu  mio  ? 

O  dio,  o  dio,  o  dio  ! 

Chi  mi  tolse  a  me  stesso, 

Ch9  a  me  fuss  e  piu  presso, 

O  piu  di  me,  che  mi  possa  esser  io  ? 

O  dio,  o  dio,  o  dio  ! 

Come  mi  passa  V  core 

Chi  non  par  che  mi  tocchi! 

Che  cosa  e  questa,  amore, 

CV  al  core  entra  per  gli  occhi ; 

E  s'  avvien  che  trabocchi 

Per  poco  spazio,  dentro  par  che  cresca  ? 


XVIII 

OGNI  cosa  cV  F  veggio  mi  consiglia, 

E  prega,  e  forza  chy  io  vi  segua  et  ami ; 

Che  quel  che  non  e  voi,  non  e  il  mio  bene. 

Amor,  che  sprezza  ogni  altra  maraviglia, 

Per  mia  salute  vuol  ch*  io  cerchi  e  brami 

Voi  sole  solo :  e  cost  F  alma  tiene 

D'  ogni  a  It  a  spene  e  a?  ogni  valor  priva ; 

E  vuol  ch*  io  arda  e  viva 

Non  sol  di  voi,  ma  chi  di  voi  somiglia 

Degli  occhi  e  delle  ciglia  alcuna  parte. 

E  c hi  da  voi  si  parte, 

Occhi  mia  vita,  non  ha  luce  poi ; 

Che  'I  del  non  e  dove  non  sete  voi. 


XVII 

How  came  to  pass  that  I  am  mine  no  more  ? 

Ah  me  ! 

Who  took  myself  from  me 

To  draw  more  close  to  me 

"Than  ever  I  could  be, 

More  dearly  mine,  than  I  myself  before  ? 

Ah  me  ! 

How  reached  he  to  the  heart 

Touching  no  outward  part  ? 

Who  prithee  may  Love  be, 

That  entered  at  the  eyes, 

And  if  in  breathed  sighs 

He  go  abroad,  increaseth  inwardly  ? 

XVIII 

ALL  Nature  urgently  doth  me  advise, 

Implore,  compel,  to  follow  thee,  and  cling 

To  my  sole  blessed  thing. 

Love,  who  doth  other  loveliness  despise, 

To  make  me  seek  salvation  only  here, 

Doth  in  my  heart  destroy 

Desire  of  other  joy, 

And  only  measure  of  delight  allow 

In  beauty  semblant  to  thine  eye  and  brow ; 

Yet  being  no  longer  near 

To  you,  clear  eyes,  its  light  hath  ceased  to  shine, 

For  only  where  you  dwell  is  heaven  of  mine. 


49 


XIX 

CHI  e  quel  che  per  for -za  a  te  mi  mena, 

Ohime  obime  obime  ! 

'Legato  e  stretto,  e  son  libero  e  sciolto  ? 

Se  tu  'ncateni  altrui  senza  catena, 

E  senza  mani  o  braccia  m9  bai  raccolto, 

Chi  mi  dtfendera  dal  tuo  bel  volto  ? 


xx 

SE  V  commodo  de  git  occhi  alcun  constringe 

Con  r  usO)  parte  insieme 

La  ragton  perde,  e  teme  ; 

Che  piii  s'  inganna  quel  cV  a  se  piu  crede . 

Onde  nel  cor  dipinge 

Per  bello  quel  a  ptcciol  belta  cede. 

Ren  vi  fo,  donna,  fede 

Che  V  commodo  ne  V  uso  non  m'  ha  preso, 

S?  di  raro  e  miey  veggion  gli  occhi  vostri 

Circonstritti  ov'  a  pena  il  desir  vola. 

Un  punto  sol  m9  ha  acceso ; 

Ne  piu  vi  vidi  cV  una  volta  sola. 


XIX 

WHO    theeward  draws    me,  spite  my  striving 

vain  ? 

Ah  woe  is  me  ! 

Am  I  at  once  imprisoned  and  free  ? 
If  thou  dost  chain  me  without  any  chain, 
And  handless,  armless,  all  my  life  embrace, 
Who  shall  defend  me  from  thy  lovely  face  ? 

xx 

IF  habit  of  the  eyes  engender  ease, 

Faint  Reason  on  her  way 

Feareth  to  go  astray, 

Lest  inwardly  she  taketh 

For  beauty  fair,  what  beauty  quite  for saketh. 

Lady,  it  doth  appear 

That  ease  and  custom  have  not  made  you  dear, 

For  that  my  looks  are  foreign  to  your,  own, 

"Toward  whose  confine  my  wishes  dare  not  soar ; 

I  was  inflamed  in  a  breath  alone ; 

Your  feature  I  have  gazed  on  once,  no  more. 


XXI 

UN  uomo  in  una  donna,  anzi  uno  dio, 

Per  la  sua  bocca  parla : 

Ond*  io  per  ascoltarla 

Son  fat  to  tal,  che  ma9  piu  saro  mio. 

Iy  credo  ben,  po'  ch9  io 

A  me  da  lei  fu  tolto, 

Fuor  di  me  stesso  aver  di  me  pietate : 

Si  sopra  V  van  desio 

Mi  sprona  U  suo  bel  volto, 

Ch9  io  veggio  morte  in  ogn9  altra  beltate. 

O  donna,  che  passate 

Per  acqua  e  foco  /*  alme  a*  lieti  giorni, 

D eh  fate  cV  a  me  stesso  piu  non  torni  ! 

XXII 

Io  dice  cbefra  noi,  potenti  del, 

Convien  cV  ogni  river  so  si  sopporti ! 

Poi  che  sarete  morti 

Di  mille  'ngiurie  e  torti, 

Amando  te  com9  or  di  lei  tu  ardi, 

Far  ne  potrai  giustamente  vendetta. 

Ahime  lasso  chi  pur  tropp*  aspetta 

Cb9  i9  gionga  a9  suoi  conforti  tanto  tardi  ! 

Ancor,  se  ben  riguardi, 

Un  generoso  alter9  e  nobil  core 

Perdon9,  e  porta  a  chi  P  offend"  amore. 


XXI 

THOUGHTS  of  a  man,  nay  of  a  god  alone, 

Her  lips  of  woman  render  eloquent; 

Whence  \,  who  listen  purely  with  content, 

May  nevermore  depart  and  be  mine  own. 

Since  she  my  life  hath  taken, 

And  self  have  I  forsaken, 

I  pity  self  that  I  was  wont  to  be. 

From  wavering  will  astray 

Her  fair  face  maketh  free, 

Till  other  beauty  death  appears  to  me. 

Thou,  who  dost  souls  convey 

To  Paradise  through  chastening  fire  and  wave, 

Lest  I  to  self  return,  dear  lady,  save! 

XXII 
FLORENTINE    EXILE 

O'ER  us,  I  think,  divinities  on  high  ! 
Impendeth  every  shameful  overthrow  ! 

MICHELANGELO 

Albeit  thou  underlie 

A  thousand  deaths  of  injury  and  woe, 

A  period  will  be, 

When  loved  by  her  as  she  is  loved  by  thee, 

Thou  mayest  the  sweet  of  lawful  vengeance  know. 

FLORENTINE    EXILE 

Alas  !  for  aye  aweary  doth  he  dwell, 
Who  waiteth  for  his  comfort  coming  slow  ! 
And  perfect  truth  to  tell, 
A  generous  heart,  of  proud  nobility, 
Yorgiveth,  and  doth  love  its  enemy. 

53 


XXIII 

S*  ALCUNA  parte  In  donna  e  che  sia  bella, 

"Bencbt  F  altre  sian  brutte, 

"Debb9  to  amarle  tutte 

P 'el  gran  placer  ch9  to  prendo  sol  di  quella? 

La  parte  che  s9  appella, 

Mentre  il  gioir  n9  attrista, 

A  la  ragion,  pur  vuole 

Che  r  innocente  error  si  scusi  e  ami. 

Amor,  che  mi  favella 

Delia  noiosa  vista, 

Com9  irato  dir  suole, 

Che  nel  suo  regno  non  s9  attenda  o  chiami. 

E  V  del  pur  vuol  ch9  to  brami 

A  quel  che  spiace  non  sia  pieta  vana  ; 

Cht  V  uso  agli  occhi  ogni  malfatto  sana. 

XXIV 

MESTIER  non  era  all9  alma  tuo  beltate 

\jegarme  vinto  con  alcuna  cor  da; 

Che^  se  ben  mi  ricorda, 

Sol  d9  uno  sguardo  fui  prigione  e  preda : 

C9  alle  gran  doglie  usate 

Forz*  e  c9  un  debt  I  cor  subito  ceda. 

Ma  chi  fie  ma9  che  ere  da, 

Yreso  da9  tuo9  begli  occhi  in  brevi  giorni 

U«  legnio  secco  e  arso  verde  torni? 


54 


XXIII 

IF  that  she  own  a  feature  passing  fair, 

While  void  of  happy  liking  live  the  rest, 

Ought  I  affection  toward  the  whole  to  bear, 

For  sake  of  beauty  by  the  one  possessed  ? 

"The  lovely  part,  distrest, 

My  praise  doth  deprecate, 

And  sue  to  Reason  for  her  sisters'  sake, 

That  also  they  be  cherished,  and  forgiven 

For  fault  they  did  not  mean.  Then  Love,  irate, 

Who  thinketh  but  on  pain  that  they  have  given, 

Saith,  in  his  court  there  lieth  no  appeal. 

Yet  Heaven  willeth  fondness  that  I  feel, 

When  toward  her  imperfection  merciful, 

Time  maketh  her,  for  me,  all  beautiful. 


XXIV 

THY  sweetness  had  no  need  of  cord  or  chain 

Its  prisoner  to  bind; 

Too  well  I  bear  in  mind, 

How  I  was  conquered  by  a  glance  alone ; 

The  heart  subdued  by  many  an  ancient  pain 

Hath  lost  the  fortitude  it  erst  did  own. 

Yet  who  hath  ever  known, 

That  wakened  by  a  look,  in  time  so  brief, 

A  withered  tree  should  kindle  and  bear  leaf? 


55 


XXV 

AMOR,  se  tu  si  dio, 

N0w  puo'  do  cbe  tu  vuoi  ? 

Deb  fa'  per  me,  se  puoi, 

Quel  ch9  10  farei  per  te,  s9  amor  fuss9  io  ! 

Sconviensi  al  gran  desio 

D'  alia  belta  la  speme^ 

Viepiu  f  effetto,  a  cbi  e  presso  al  morire. 

Pon  nel  tuo  grado  il  mio  : 

Dolce  gli  fie  cbi  V  preme  ? 

Che  grazia  per  poc*  or,  doppia  V  martire. 

Ren  ti  voglio  ancor  dire : 

Cbe  sarie  morte,  s9  a9  miseri  e  dura, 

A  cbi  muor  giunto  air  alta  sua  ventura  ? 


XXV 

"  O  LOVE,  thou  art  divine, 

A  god  to  work  thy  will ; 

Prithee,  for  me  fulfil 

All  I  would  do  for  thee,  if  deity  were  mine." 

"  He  were  no  friend  of  thine, 

Who  hope  of  lofty  beauty  should  bestow 

On  one  who  presently  must  life  forego  ; 

Come  put  thee  in  my  place, 

Thy  idle  prayer  retrace  ; 

Wilt  thou  implore  a  gain, 

That  granted,  only  would  enlarge  the  pain  ? 

Death  hath  a  sober  face ; 

If  even  the  unhappy  find  him  rude, 

How  stern  to  one  arrived  at  full  beatitude?  " 


57 


NOTES    ON    THE    SONNETS 

EPIGRAMS    AND 

MADRIGALS 


NOTES      ON      THE 
SONNETS 

The    Roman    numbers^    in    the   Introduction 

and  Notes,  refer  to  the  numeration  of 

Guasti  (Le  Rime  di  Michelangelo 

Buonarroti ,  Florence,  1863). 

ENGLISH  TRANSLATIONS  OF  THE 
POEMS.— On  the  corrupted  texts 
of  1623  were  based  the  versions 
of  J.  E. Taylor  (Michael  Angelo 
considered  as  a  Philosophic 
Poet.  With  Translations.  London,  1840), 
and  of  J.  S.  Harford  (Life  of  Michael  Angelo 
Buonarroti.  With  Translations  of  many  of 
his  Poems  and  Letters.  London,  1857).  The 
beautiful  renderings  of  Wordsworth  (five  son- 
nets) depended  on  the  same  faulty  presen- 
tation. The  correct  texts  of  Guasti  were 
followed  by  J.  A.  Symonds  in  his  complete 
translation  of  the  sonnets  (The  Sonnets  of 
Michael  Angelo  Buonarroti  and  Tommasi 
Campanella.  London,  1878).  In  his  bio- 
graphy of  the  sculptor  (The  Life  of  Michael- 
Angelo  Buonarroti.  London,  1893),  Symonds 
rendered  several  of  the  madrigals.  A  selection 

61 


NOTES 

from  the  poems,  with  the  Italian  text,  and 
renderings  by  different  hands,  was  edited  by 
Mrs.  E.  D.  Cheney  (Selected  Poems  from 
Michael-Angelo  Buonarroti.  With  Transla- 
tions from  various  sources.  Boston,  1885). 
This  publication  includes  thirteen  epitaphs  for 
Cecchino  Bracchi,  and  the  verses  written  by 
Michelangelo  on  the  death  of  his  father,  as 
well  as  a  number  of  the  sonnets  of  the  last 
period  (after  1547).  Versions  of  single  son- 
nets may  be  found  scattered  through  periodical 
literature. 

i  [i]  Donate  Giannotti  wrote  an  essay  con- 
cerning the  duration  of  the  journey  through 
Hell  and  Purgatory,  as  related  in  the  "  Divina 
Commedia."  This  discussion  he  cast  into  the 
form  of  a  dialogue,  in  which  Michelangelo  is 
given  the  principal  part ;  the  conversation  is 
dated  as  taking  place  in  1545,  and  one  of  the 
interlocutors  is  made  to  recite  the  sonnet  which, 
with  doubtful  accuracy,  is  said  to  have  been 
composed  a  few  days  before.  The  work  of 
Giannotti  is  interesting  as  containing  the  esti- 
mate of  a  contemporary  concerning  the  char- 
acter of  Michelangelo,  but  the  words  assigned 
to  him  cannot  be  considered  as  a  record  of  his 
actual  expressions.  The  essayist  seems  to  have 
applied  to  the  artist  for  material,  as  indicated 
by  the  subscription  of  the  following  sonnet, 
probably  composed  at  this  time. 
62 


NOTES 


QUANTE  DIRNE  SI  DE*  NON  SI  PUO  DIRE 

His  praise  remains  unuttered,  for  bis  fire 
Of  glory  burneth  with  o*  ervivid  flame  ; 
The  home  that  wronged  him  easier  to  blame, 
Than  toward  his  humblest  merit  to  aspire. 
This  man  for  us  descended,  where  God's  ire 
Subdueth  sin,  once  more  toward  heaven  rose  ; 
The  gates  that  his  Creator  did  not  close, 
A  cruel  city  barred  to  his  desire. 
Ah  ruth/ess  mother,  nurse  of  her  own  woe, 
In  measure  as  her  sons  are  excellent, 
Their  sorrow  making  bitterly  to  flow  ! 
Of  thousand  instances  one  argument  ; 
No  man  hath  lived  more  shamefully  exiled, 
N0  age  hath  known  a  like,  a  greater  child. 

2  [xiv]  The  sketch,  characterized  by  rude 
vigor,  lacks  the  truth  and  harmony  essential  to  a 
beautiful  work;  these  qualities  are  to  be  attained 
by  the  final  touches  of  the  hammer,  or,  as  we 
should  now  say,  of  the  chisel.  So  it  is  only  the 
influence  of  the  beloved  person  which  can  per- 
fect the  incomplete  design  of  Nature,  and  be- 
stow on  the  character  its  final  excellence.  Of 
all  the  sonnets,  this  is  the  most  celebrated. 

Respecting  an  inferior  variant,  the  younger 
Buonarroti,  in  an  obscure  mention,  appears 
to  say  that  it  was  contained  in  a  letter  of  the 

63 


NOTES 

sculptor  written  in  1550,  which  letter  made 
mention  of  the  marchioness  of  Pescara;  and 
this  assertion  has  led  Guasti  to  refer  the  son- 
net to  that  date.  It  is  quite  clear,  however, 
that  the  treatment  does  not  belong  to  the 
later  period,  after  the  death  of  Vittoria  Co- 
lonna,  in  which  the  productions  of  Michel- 
angelo had  assumed  the  monotone  of  a  color- 
less piety.  It  seems  to  me  more  likely  that 
the  time  of  composition  is  to  be  set  earlier 
than  1534,  and  that  the  conception,  ideal  in 
character,  had  no  relation  to  Vittoria,  with 
whom  the  sculptor  had  perhaps  not  yet  be- 
come acquainted. 

3  [xv]  The  sculptor,  who  is  designated  as 
the  best  of  artists,  on  beholding  the  block  of 
marble  at  his  disposal,  obtains  the  suggestion  of 
a  statue  ;  this  possible  work  appears  to  him  as  a 
figure  concealed  beneath  the  veil  of  superincum- 
bent matter,  which  he  proceeds  to  remove.  His 
success  will  depend  on  the  clearness  of  internal 
vision  ;  if  he  lack  the  vivid  conception,  the  re- 
sult will  be  an  abortive  product,  which  meta- 
phorically may  be  called  a  likeness  of  Death. 
So  if  the  lover,  in  place  of  the  "mercy"  which 
he  desires  to  awaken,  can  create  in  the  heart 
of  his  lady  only  a  feeling  inconsistent  with 
his  wishes,  the  blame  should  be  laid  solely  to 
his  own  insufficiency.  The  idea  is  poetic,  not 
philosophic,  and  the  sonnet  a  poem  of  love, 


NOTES 

belonging  to  what  I  have  called  the  earlier 
manner  of  the  poet.  The  sonnet  has  been 
paraphrased  by  Emerson  :  — 

NEVER  did  sculptor's  dream  unfold 

A.  form  which  marble  doth  not  hold 

In  its  white  block ;  yet  it  therein  shall  find 

Only  the  hand  secure  and  bold 

Which  still  obeys  the  mind. 

So  hide  in  thee,  thou  heavenly  dame, 

The  ill  I  shun,  the  good  I  claim ; 

I,  alas  !  not  well  alive, 

Miss  the  aim  whereto  I  strive. 

Not  love,  nor  beauty's  pride, 

Nor  fortune,  nor  thy  coldness  can  I  chide, 

If  whilst  within  thy  heart  abide 

Both  death  and  pity,  my  unequal  skill 

Trails  of  the  life,  but  draws  the  death  and  ill. 

In  this  rendering  the  fourth  line  is  open  to 
criticism ;  it  is  not  want  of  manual  skill  that 
is  the  cause  of  failure,  but  the  inability  to 
form  an  adequate  idea.  Harford  modernizes 
the  introductory  lines  :  — 

WHATE'ER  conception  a  great  artist  fires, 
Its  answering  semblance  latent  lies  within 
A  block  of  marble. 

The  metaphor  is  thus  reduced  to  the  scho- 
lastic platitude,  that  in  all  matter  lies  the 
potentiality  of  form.  So  Varchi  understood 

65 


NOTES 

the  lines,  and  cites  Aristotle  as  authority  that 
the  action  of  an  agent  is  nothing  but  the 
extraction  of  a  thing  from  potency  to  act; 
with  changes  on  such  intolerable  jargon  he 
occupies  two  pages.  The  lecture,  intended 
to  be  flattering,  only  serves  to  show  with 
what  contemporary  crassness  the  delicate 
conceptions  of  Michelangelo  were  obliged  to 
struggle. 

4  [xvn]  The  contrast  between  the  perma- 
nence of  the  artistic  product  and  the  transito- 
riness  of  the  mortal  subject  suggests  reflections 
which  may  take  different  turns.    (See  madrigal 
No.  9    [xin].)     One  is  reminded  of  certain 
sonnets  of  Shakespeare. 

5  [xix]  The  lover  feels  himself  enriched  by 
the  impression  of  the  beloved,  which,  like  the 
divine  name  on  the  seal  of  Solomon,  confers 
the  power  of  working  miracles.    The  pretty 
composition  is  among  the  few  which  may  be 
said  to  be  inspired  by  a  really  cheerful  and  joy- 
ous sentiment,  and,  like  the  preceding,  may  be 
held  to  belong  to  the  earlier  manner  of  the  poet. 

6  [xx]  This  most  beautiful  sonnet,  somewhat 
immature  in  its  music,  is  a  precious  relic  of 
Michelangelo's  early  love  verse.  The  poem  was 
written  below  a  letter  from  his  father,  received 
in  Bologna,  and  dated  24  December,  1507. 
Subscribed  is  the  line :  La  m'  arde  e  lega  et  emmi 

66 


NOTES 

e  parmi  un  zucchero.  "  She  burns  me  and  binds 
me  and  eats  me,  and  I  think  her  a  sugarplum/' 
The  lines,  therefore,  have  a  biographic  inspi- 
ration, and  may  be  presumed  to  have  been  in 
honor  of  some  young  beauty  of  Bologna.  A 
fragment  of  a  madrigal  seems  akin. 

[CII] 

LEZZI,  vezzi,  carezze,  or  feste  e  perle ; 

Chi  potria  ma*  vederle 

Cogli  atti  suo9  divin  F  uman  lavoro, 

Ove  r  argento  e  /'  oro 

Da  le'  ricieve  o  dupltca  suo  luce  ? 

Ogni  gemma  piu  luce 

Dagli  occbi  suo9  cbe  da  propia  vlrtute. 

u  LOOKS,  laughter,  graces,  gaud,  and  pearl ; 

Who  that  gazeth  on  the  girl 

"Ever  hath  a  thought  to  spare 

For  the  gold  that  gleameth  there, 

Or  if  stiver  sparkle  fair? 

Every  gem  that  on  her  lies 

Eorrowetb  lustre  from  her  eyes" 

In  this  connection  also  should  be  cited  the 
sonnet  which  Guasti  has  placed  next  in 
order,  and  which  also  seems  to  contain  inter- 
nal evidence  of  belonging  to  a  period  rela- 
tively early. 


67 


NOTES 

[XXI] 
D'  ALTRUI    PIETOSO    E    SOL    DI    SE    SPIETATO 

To  others  kind,  and  only  self-oppressed, 

Doth  live  a  lowly  worm,  that  to  adorn 

A  lady's  beauty  will  her  life  divest, 

In  death  alone  appearing  nobly  born. 

So  would  my  lady  might  esteem  no  scorn 

Her  life  in  my  mortality  to  vest, 

That  I  might  shed  this  slough,  and  be  re-born 

forth  from  my  being  to  a  state  more  blest. 

Would  that  of  me  the  silken  thread  were  twined, 

That  fashioned  to  her  happy  gown,  doth  use 

So  fair  a  bosom  with  content  to  bind, 

"By  day  at  least  to  wear  me ;  or  the  shoes, 

That  like  the  column's  base,  her  steps  sustain, 

If  only  in  the  falling  of  the  rain! 

It  would  seem  that  these  remains  of  the 
poetical  activity  of  early  manhood,  though 
not  numerous,  are  yet  sufficient  to  refute  the 
rash  generalizations  of  biographers  who  under- 
take to  sum  up  the  personality  from  their  im- 
pressions of  the  artistic  product.  It  does 
seem  strange  that  with  these  lines  before  him, 
Mr.  Symonds  could  have  written  :  "  Michel- 
angelo emerges  as  a  mighty  master  who  was 
dominated  by  the  vision  of  male  beauty,  and 
who  saw  the  female  mainly  through  the  fas- 
cination of  the  other  sex.  The  defect  of  his 
68 


NOTES 

art  is  due  to  a  certain  constitutional  callous- 
ness, a  want  of  sensuous  or  imaginative  sen- 
sibility for  what  is  specifically  feminine.  .  .  . 
Michelangelo  neither  loved  nor  admired  nor 
yielded  to  the  female  sex.  ...  I  find  it  diffi- 
cult to  resist  the  conclusion  that  Michelangelo 
felt  himself  compelled  to  treat  women  as 
though  they  were  another  and  less  graceful 
sort  of  males.  What  he  did  not  comprehend 
and  could  not  represent  was  woman  in  her 
girlishness,  her  youthful  joy,  her  physical 
attractions,  her  magic  of  seduction.  .  .  . 
What  makes  Michelangelo's  crudity  in  his 
plastic  treatment  of  the  female  form  the  more 
remarkable  is  that  in  his  poetry  he  seems  to 
feel  the  influence  of  women  mystically.  I 
shall  have  to  discuss  this  topic  in  another 
place.  It  is  enough  here  to  say  that,  with 
very  few  exceptions,  we  remain  in  doubt 
whether  he  is  addressing  a  woman  at  all. 
There  are  none  of  those  spontaneous  utter- 
ances by  which  a  man  involuntarily  expresses 
the  outgoings  of  his  heart  to  a  beloved  object, 
the  throb  of  irresistible  emotion,  the  physical 
ache,  the  sense  of  wanting,  the  joys  and  pains, 
the  hopes  and  fears,  which  belong  to  genu- 
ine passion.  .  .  .  Michelangelo's  c donna' 
might  just  as  well  be  a  man ;  and  indeed,  the 
poems  he  addressed  to  men,  though  they  have 
nothing  sensual  about  them,  reveal  a  finer 


NOTES 

touch  in  the  emotion  of  the  writer."  (Life, 
vol.  i,  c.  vi,  8.  See  vol.  ii,  pp.  381—5.) 

The  reasons  for  the  limitation  which  may 
have  prevented  Michelangelo  from  adequately 
representing  the  sensuous  aspect  of  woman- 
hood, should  be  sought  in  the  character  of 
his  plastic  genius.  So  far  as  the  power  of 
appreciation  is  concerned,  and  especially  in 
regard  to  the  spirit  of  the  verse,  the  opinion 
of  Mr.  Symonds  appears  to  me  to  reverse 
the  fact.  The  nature  of  the  artist  may  be 
pronounced  especially  sensitive  to  the  physi- 
cal influence  of  woman.  If,  in  the  extant 
poetry,  this  sentiment  appears  in  chastened 
form,  such  calmness  may  be  set  down  solely 
to  the  period  of  life.  Yet  even  in  these 
later  compositions,  extreme  impressibility  is 
revealed  in  every  line.  Mr.  Symonds's  error 
has  prevented  him  from  entering  into  the 
spirit  of  the  sonnets,  and  also  constitutes  a 
deficiency  in  his  instructive  biography.  (See 
note  to  sonnet  No.  13  [xxx].) 

7  [xxn]  The  verse,  direct  and  passionate, 
though  doubtless  of  a  later  date,  still  bears 
the  character  of  pieces  which  must  be  pro- 
nounced relatively  early.  Observable  is  the 
use  of  theologic  metaphor,  employed  only 
for  the  sake  of  poetic  coloring,  and  not  yet 
sublimed  to  pure  thought. 


70 


NOTES 

8  [xxiv]  This  delightful  sonnet,  according 
to  the  nephew,  was  found  on  a  letter  bearing 
date  of  1529.   (See  p.  7.)    The  lines  seem  to 
give  the  idea  of  a  gentle  and  lovely  personage 
whose  countenance  shines  out  as  through  a 
golden  mist.     In  later  compositions,  the  con- 
flict of  Death  and  Love  is  worked  out  differ- 
ently.    (See  madrigal  No.  9  [xm] .) 

9  [xxv]  On  the  same  authority,  this  inex- 
pressibly charming  production  is  assigned  to 
1529.  Here  appear  the  germs  of  Platonic  imag- 
ination. The  soul,  a  divine  essence,  endows  the 
visible   suggestion  with   the  spiritual  essence 
derived  from  its  own  store.     But  the  object 
is  not  completely  divinized  ;  the  end  is  still 
possession.     The  reflective  element  will  in- 
crease, the  sensuous  lessen,  until  poetry  passes 
over  into  piety. 

10  [xxvn]  The  love  verse  is  not  to  be  taken 
as  wholly  biographic,  but  rather  as  ideal. 

1 1  [xxvm]  The  atmosphere  of  the  sonnet 
is   that  of  later  time  and  of  a  more  rarefied 
height.    We  are  now  in  full  Platonism.   The 
soul,  heaven-born,  perceives  in  the  eyes  of  the 
beloved  its  primal  home,  the  Paradise  whence 
itself  has  descended,  and  the  heavenly  affection 
of  which  earthly  love  is  a  reminiscence.    But 
the  period  may  still  be  before  the  Roman  resi- 
dence, and  the  meeting  with  Vittoria  Colonna. 


NOTES 

1 2  [xxix]    This  sonnet  may  safely  be  set 
down  as  belonging  to  the  later  time.     The 
sentiment  of  unhappy  attachment,  impossible 
desire,   wistful    loneliness,    breathes    through 
the  verse.     The  piece   contains  two  mysti- 
cal but  grand  lines.     Whoever  has  hoped  for 
an  elevation  not  given  to  mortals  has  wasted 
his  thought  in  the  endeavor  to  penetrate  the 
recesses  of  deity,  as  seed  is  lost  on  the  stony 
ground,  and  words  spent  in  the  limitless  air. 

13  [xxx]    This  gentle  and  tender  poem, 
of  the  earlier    period,  somewhat    similar   in 
sentiment    to    No.  5    [xix],    and    obviously 
from    the    heart,  is    penetrated  by  the    same 
feeling  as  that  discernible  in  Nos.  8  and  9 
[xxiv  and  xxv],     Varchi,  with  his  charac- 
teristic want  of  perception,  chose  to   fancy 
that  it  might  be  addressed  to  a  man,  like  the 
following,  said  to  be  composed  for  Tommaso 
Cavalieri. 

[ xxxi ] 
A  CHE  PIU  DEBB'  10  MAI  L'  INTENSA  VOGLIA 

WHAT  right  have  I  to  give  my  passion  vent 
In  bitter  plaint  and  words  of  sighing  breath, 
If  Heaven,  soon  or  late,  apparelleth 
Each  living  soul  in  mantle  of  lament  ? 
Why  ere  his  time,  invoke  the  feet  of  Death, 
When   Death  will  come?    Nay,  rather   let  my 

glance 

72 


NOTES 

At  last  dwell  peaceful  on  his  countenance. 
Since  other  good  my  sorrow  vanquisheth. 
Yet  if  no  power  is  mine  to  shun  the  blow 
I  court  and  seek  ;  what  help  will  be  my  own, 
To  interpose  'twixt  dolor  and  delight  ? 
Since  prison  and  defeat  allure  me  so, 
It  is  not  strange,  if  naked  and  alone, 
I  remain  captive  of  an  armed  knight. 

The  words  cavalier  armato  are  supposed 
to  have  referred  to  the  aforesaid  Cavalieri,  a 
Roman  youth  whom  Varchi  describes  as  all 
that  was  beautiful  and  lovable.  The  highest 
male  beauty  seems  to  have  had  for  Italians  of 
the  Renaissance  an  attraction  similar  to  that 
which  it  possessed  for  Athenians,  a  charm 
which  our  modern  taste  does  not  entirely  com- 
prehend. Thus  the  early  death  of  Cecchino 
Bracchi  had  produced  a  great  sensation ;  the 
epitaphs  addressed  to  his  memory  by  Michel- 
angelo, who  had  never  looked  on  his  face,  at- 
test the  sincerity  of  his  own  sentiment.  For 
Cavalieri,  whom  the  artist  had  known  in 
1533,  he  seems  to  have  felt  what  can  be  de- 
scribed only  as  a  passion ;  the  three  extant  let- 
ters addressed  to  the  young  man  breathe  that 
timidity,  sense  of  inferiority,  and  fear  of  mis- 
understanding which  ordinarily  belong  only  to 
sexual  attachment.  This  emotion  needs  no 
apology  other  than  that  contained  in  a  letter 
to  this  friend :  u  And  if  you  are  sure  of  my 

73 


NOTES 

affection,  you  ought  to  think  and  know  that 
he  who  loveth  remembereth,  and  can  no  more 
forget  the  things  he  fervently  loves,  than  a 
hungry  man  the  food  that  nourishes  him ; 
nay,  much  less  may  one  forget  beloved  ob- 
jects than  the  food  on  which  man  liveth ;  for 
they  nourish  both  soul  and  body,  the  last  with 
the  greatest  sobriety,  and  the  first  with  tran- 
quil felicity  and  the  expectation  of  everlasting 
salvation."  (Lettere,  No.  4,  16.)  The 
susceptibility  of  Michelangelo  toward  exter- 
nal impressions  is  noted  by  Giannotti,  who 
makes  him  affirm  that  as  often  as  he  set 
eyes  on  any  person  endowed  with  excellence 
he  could  not  help  becoming  enamored  of 
him  in  such  manner  that  he  surrendered  him- 
self to  him  as  a  prey.  (Guasti,  Rime,  p. 
xxxi.)  To  the  point  is  Michelangelo's  own 
estimate  of  his  character  expressed  in  a  son- 
net. 

[  xvin  ] 

AL  COR  DI  ZOLFO,  ALLA  CARNE  DI  STOPPA 

THE  heart  of  sulphur  and  the  flesh  of  tow, 
The  bones  inflammable  as  tinder  dried, 
The  soul  without  a  bridle,  without  guide, 
\n  liking  prompt,  toward  joy  o'er  swift  to  go, 
The  reason  purblind,  halting,  lame,  and  slow, 
Tangled  in  nets  wherewith  the  world  doth  teem, 
N0  marvel  9t  is,  if  even  in  a  gleam 
74 


NOTES 

I  kindle  up  in  flame  that  first  doth  glow. 

'With  that  fair  art  endowed,  whereby  the  mind 

From  heaven  that  bringeth,  Nature  doth  outvie, 

And  with  itself  all  being  occupy , 

If  I  thereto  was  born  nor  deaf  nor  blind, 

Proportionate  to  heat  that  I  desire, 

'T  is  fault  of  him  who  made  for  me  the  fire. 

It  is  well  to  know  that  Cavalier!  seems  to 
have  had  a  modest  and  noble  nature,  and  that 
his  personal  attachment  and  artistic  apprecia- 
tion soothed  the  declining  days  of  Michel- 
angelo, at  whose  end  he  was  present. 

The  mention  of  Michelangelo  himself 
(Lettere,  No.  466 ;  Symonds,  Life,  vol.  ii, 
p.  130)  seems  to  prove  that  this  sonnet  was 
really  composed  for  his  young  friend.  But 
it  is  one  thing  to  conclude  that  the  piece 
was  addressed  to  Cavalieri,  quite  another  to 
suppose  that  it  was  inspired  by  him.  The 
ideas  are  the  same  as  those  elsewhere  appear- 
ing in  reference  to  women.  The  composi- 
tion does  not  appear  to  me  one  of  the  most 
original,  and  I  should  be  disposed  to  regard 
it  as  ordinary  love  verse,  into  which,  out  of 
compliment,  the  writer  had  introduced  the 
punning  allusion.  In  any  case,  it  is  to  be 
observed  that  in  the  Platonic  compositions 
treating  of  male  friendship,  the- whole  argu- 
ment is  metaphorical,  the  comparisons  being 

75 


NOTES 

borrowed  from  the  earlier  poetry  of   sexual 
love. 

Fundamental  is  the  question,  What  pro- 
portion of  Michelangelo's  verse  was  intended 
to  relate  to  men,  and  how  far  can  such  verse, 
if  existent,  be  taken  to  imply  that  he  had  no 
separate  way  of  feeling  for  women  ?  The 
opinions  of  Mr.  Symonds  have  already  been 
cited  (see  note  to  No.  6  [xx]).  In  noticing 
Michelangelo's  use  of  the  idiomatic  Tuscan 
word  signore,  lord,  as  applied  in  the  sonnets 
to  female  persons  as  well  as  male  (the  Eng- 
lish liege  may  similarly  be  used),  he  says, 
"  But  that  Michelangelo  by  the  stgnore  always 
or  frequently  meant  a  woman  can  be  dis- 
proved in  many  ways.  I  will  only  adduce 
the  fragment  of  one  sonnet  "  (No.  LXXXIII). 
It  is  a  pity  that  Mr.  Symonds  did  not  enter 
into  detail ;  I  am  quite  at  a  loss  for  any  cir- 
cumstances that  can  be  held  to  warrant  his 
declaration.  For  the  word,  the  sonnets  only 
afford  information.  No.  xvi,  containing  the 
words  signior  mie  car,  is  a  variant  of  No.  xv, 
expressly  addressed  to  a  lady.  In  No.  xxn, 
no  one  will  doubt  that  the  reference  is  to  a 
woman.  In  No.  xxxv  the  sex  is  shown  by 
the  epithet  leggiadre,  fair,  applied  to  the  arms 
(Mr.  Symonds  renders  u  fragile ").  No. 
xxxvn  qualifies  signor  by  donna.  No.  LV 
treats  of  the  shyness  of  a  lady  in  presence  of 


NOTES 

her  lover.  In  No.  XL,  instead  of  signior,  the 
variant  gives  donna.  No.  XLVII  seems  obvi- 
ously addressed  to  Vittoria  Colonna.  In  No. 
xxxvi,  the  feminine  application  appears  to 
be  indicated  by  the  description  of  the  sover- 
eign person  as  reigning  nella  casa  dy  amore. 
Thus  in  not  a  single  instance  can  the  sug- 
gestion of  Mr.  Symonds  be  accepted. 

There  remains  the  fragment  mentioned, 
No.  LXXXIII,  a  beautiful  and  interesting  piece, 
unhappily  imperfect.  "  Yonder  it  was  that 
Love  (amor ;  variant,  signior)^  his  mercy,  took 
my  heart,  rather  my  life ;  here  with  beauteous 
eyes  he  promised  me  aid,  and  with  the  same 
took  it  away.  Yonder  he  bound  me,  here  he 
loosed  me ;  here  for  myself  I  wept,  and  with 
infinite  grief  saw  issue  from  this  stone  him 
who  took  me  from  myself,  and  of  me  would 
none."  It  will  be  seen  that  the  masculine 
pronoun  is  rendered  necessary  by  the  reference 
to  personified  Love,  and  that  the  allusion  is 
clearly  to  sexual  passion.  Mr.  Symonds  has 
not  entirely  comprehended  the  scope  of  the 
fragment.  The  mystical  description  of  Love 
as  issuing  from  a  stone  (sasso)  may  probably 
be  an  application  of  the  familiar  sculpturesque 
metaphor. 

As,  in  the  instances  considered,  the  opinion 
of  Mr.  Symonds  appears  void  of  foundation, 
so  it  is  counter  to  the  tenor  of  the  poetry. 

77 


NOTES 

If  No.  xxxi  really  was  written  for  Cavalieri, 
the  reference  probably  consisted  of  no  more 
than  the  introduction,  into  the  ordinary 
phrases  of  a  love  poem,  of  a  complimentary 
play  on  words.  As  for  the  metaphor  by 
which  a  lady  is  compared  to  an  armed  enemy, 
that  was  already  commonplace  in  the  day  of 
Dante. 

14  [xxxn]  From  pieces  dealing  with  ideal 
affection  we  pass  to  one  obviously  biographic 
in  its  inspiration.     The  poem  is  written  be- 
low a  letter  of  1532,  addressed  to  the  sculptor 
when  in  Rome.     The  artist  seems  to  refer 
to  his  own  impetuous  nature,  too   liable   to 
quarrel  with  friends.    Analogous  is  the  sonnet 
addressed  to  Luigi  del  Riccio.     (See  madrigal 
No.  3  [iv]  note.)     But  this  composition  evi- 
dently relates  to  a  lady,  as  is  shown  by  the 
mention  of  the  dorato  strale,  gilded  dart  of 
Love. 

15  [xxxm]    As  with  all  lyric  poetry,  so 
in  the   compositions   of  Michelangelo,  it   is 
not  to  be  assumed  that  every  expression  of 
emotion  of  necessity  corresponds  to  some  par- 
ticular experience.     Yet  the  tenderness,  mel- 
ancholy, and  gentle  regret  which  inspire  the 
verse  evidently  reflect  the  character  and  habit- 
ual manner  of  feeling  of  the  author.     Related 
in  sentiment  are  the  following  sonnets :  — 

78 


NOTES 

[xxvi] 

NON  MEN  GRAN  GRAZIA,  DONNA,  CHE  GRAN 
DOGLIA 

BY  happiness  as  deep  as  agony 

"Below  the  scaffold  is  the  caitiff  slain, 

'When  lost  to  hope,  and  ice  in  every  vein, 

His  pardon  comes,  his  sudden  liberty  ; 

So  when,  beyond  thy  wonted  charity, 

My  heaven  overcast  with  many  a  pain 

Thy  sovereign  pity  doth  make  clear  again^ 

More  deep  than  anguish,  pierceth  ecstasy. 

Sweet  news  and  cruel  in  so  far  agree, 

As  either  in  a  moment  may  destroy 

The  heart  by  grief,  or  sunder  it  through  joy ; 

If  thou  desirest  that  I  live  for  thee, 

The  rapture  mete,  for  many  a  creature  frail 

Hath  died  of  grace  too  free  for  its  avail. 

[xxxv] 

SENTO    D'  UN    FOCO    UN    FREDDO    ASPETTO 
ACCESO 

I  SEE  a  face  that  in  itself  is  cold, 
Yet  lit  with  fire  that  burneth  me  afar ; 
Two  arms,  that  quiet  and  unmoving  are, 
'Whereby  all  else  is  moved  and  controlled ; 
The  vision  of  a  beauty  I  behold, 
Immortal,  yet  pursuing  me  to  death  ; 

79 


NOTES 


A  power  that  free,  my  own  envelopetb ; 
Another's  balm,  that  may  my  hurt  enfold. 
How  can  befall,  that  a  fair  countenance 
Hath  power  to  cause  effect  so  contrary, 
Creating  what  it  doth  now  own  ?  Perchance, 
The  life  that  taketh  my  felicity, 
Yet  doth  itself  deny,  is  like  the  sun, 
That  yieldeth  the  world  he  at,  yet  heat  hath  none. 

[xxxvm] 

RENDETE  A  GLI  OCCHI  MIEI,  O  FONTE  O  FIUME 

AH  give  me  back,  or  river  thou  or  source, 
The  turbid  waters  that  enlarge  thee  so, 
That  thy  augmented  current  doth  overflow, 
And  hasten  on  an  unaccustomed  course ; 
O  laden  air,  whose  gathered  mists  allay 
And  temper  heaven's  shining  to  these  eyes, 
Return  my  weary  heart  her  many  sighs, 
And  cloudless  leave  the  countenance  of  day. 
Earth,  render  to  my  feet  their  steps  again, 
Along  the  track  they  trod  let  grass  grow  green  ; 
Restore,  deaf  Echo,  my  petitions  vain ; 
And  ye,  alas  !  unmoved  eyes  serene  ! 
Give  mine  their  wasted  looks,  that  they  may  see 
Some  kinder  loveliness,  disdained  by  thee  ! 

Witb  these  sonnets  of  ideal  love  may  be 
compared  one  later  in  date,  apparently  more 
biographic   in    sentiment,  and    doubtless    in- 
spired by  Vittoria  Colonna. 
80 


NOTES 


S     I     AVESSI    CREDUTO    AL    PRIMO    SGUARDO 

HAD  I  believed,  when  first  I  met  the  glow 

Of  this  bright  soul,  my  sun,  that  I  might  rise 

Through  fire  renewed  in  such  triumphal  wise 

As  doth  the  Pbcenix  from  her  ashes  go, 

"Like  some  fleet-footed  creature,  pard  or  roe, 

That  seeks  its  joy  and  flieth  from  its  fear, 

To  meet  the  act,  the  smile,  the  accent  dear, 

I  would  have  leaped,  now  in  my  swiftness  slow. 

Yet  why  indulge  regret,  the  while  I  see 

In  eyes  of  this  glad  angel,  without  cease, 

My  calm  repose  and  everlasting  peace  ? 

More  painful  days,  perchance,  had  dawned  on 

me, 

If  I  had  earlier  met,  yet  been  denied 
The  wings  she  lendeth  me  to  fly  beside. 

1 6  [xxxix]  The  timid  lover,  who  finds 
himself  involved  in  the  dangers  of  a  hopeless 
passion,  endeavors  to  withdraw  from  the  per- 
ilous situation,  but  in  so  doing  finds  himself 
confronted  by  another  danger,  that  of  losing 
the  affection  which  has  become  his  life.  As 
the  vain  desire  will  prove  the  death  of  the 
body,  so  the  renunciation  will  be  that  of  the 
soul ;  thus  the  suitor,  according  to  the  famil- 
iar metaphorical  system  furnished  by  plastic 

81 


NOTES 

art,  is  said  to  see  his  lady  with  a  statue  of 
Death  on  either  hand. 

The  beautiful  and  mystic  sonnet  was  writ- 
ten on  a  stray  leaf  bearing  a  memorandum  of 
1529,  and  was  probably  composed  in  that 
year.  According  to  the  statement  of  the 
nephew,  Nos.  8  and  9  [xxiv  and  xxv]  were 
also  written  on  letters  of  that  year ;  and  these 
two  poems  correspond  in  sentiment  with  the 
present  piece. 

1 7  [XL]  This  most  beautiful  sonnet  might 
conjecturally  be  referred  to  the  same  period 
as  No.  1 2  [xxix] .  The  spirit  of  the  verse 
ought  to  be  enough  to  satisfy  any  reader  that 
it  was  composed  with  reference  to  a  woman. 
(See  note  to  No.  13  [xxx].) 

1 8,  19  [XLIII,  XLIV]  These  two  pieces, 
containing  respectively  the  dispraise  and  praise 
of  night,  are  obviously  intended  to  be  counter- 
parts, the  first  forming  an  introduction  to  the 
second.  The  consolations  belonging  to  dark- 
ness and  slumber  have  furnished  themes  to 
very  many  writers  of  verse;  but  among  all 
such  pieces  Michelangelo's  tribute  is  entitled 
to  preeminence.  The  emotion,  deepening 
with  the  progress  of  the  rhyme,  ends  in  one 
of  those  outbursts  which  make  the  poetry  a 
key  to  the  character.  Two  other  sonnets 
treating  of  the  same  subject  do  not  appear  to 
be  connected. 
82 


NOTES 

[XII] 

COLUI    CHE    FECE,    E    NON    DI   COSA   ALCUNA 

HE  who  did  erst  from  primal  nothing  bring 
Time,  integral  and  property  of  none, 
To  half)  dividing^  gave  the  distant  sun, 
To  half  the  moon,  a  lamp  more  neighboring. 
All  in  a  moment,  'Destiny  and  Chance 
Regan,  and  over  mortals  ruled  with  power ; 
To  me  they  gave  the  still  and  sober  hour, 
As  like  to  like,  in  birth  and  circumstance. 
As  attribute  in  action  is  expressed, 
And  darkness  is  the  property  of  night, 
So  e'en  to  be  myself  is  sad  to  be ; 
Yet  is  my  troubled  spirit  soothed  to  rest, 
Remembering,  its  dusk  may  render  bright 
The  sun  that  fortune  lent  for  friend  to  thee. 

In  No.  XLII  Night  is  lauded,  as  the  shadow 
in  which  man  is  engendered,  while  in  the  day 
the  soil  is  broken  only  for  the  seed  of  the 
corn ;  but  the  composition  does  not  rival  the 
sweetness  and  sublimity  of  No.  XLIV. 

20  [LII]  This  fine  sonnet,  belonging  to 
the  later  period,  may  be  set  down  as  among 
those  inspired  by  Vittoria  Colonna.  Thor- 
oughly characteristic  is  the  grand  fifth  line, 
in  which  the  soul  is  said  to  have  been  created 
as  God's  equal.  The  nephew,  of  course, 
diluted  such  daring  conceptions  into  common- 

83 


NOTES 

place,  and  his  restoration  altogether  fails  to 
convey  the  essential  meaning  of  the  piece. 
Wordsworth,  unfortunately,  knew  only  the 
emasculated  version. 

Similar  in  theme  is  another  sonnet,  No.  LX, 
also  rendered  by  Wordsworth,  from  a  text 
more  nearly  representative.  In  this  instance 
the  English  poet  has  transcended  his  source, 
and  furnished  a  proof  that  on  fortunate  occa- 
sions a  translation  may  belong  to  the  very 
best  poetry,  and  deserve  that  immortality 
which  commonly  belongs  only  to  expressions 
of  original  genius. 

YES!  hope  may  with  my  strong  desire  keep  pace, 

And  I  be  undeluded,  undismayed ; 

For  if  of  our  affections  none  find  grace 

In  sight  of  heaven,   then  wherefore  hath  God 

made 

The  world  which  we  inhabit  ?  better  plea 
Love  cannot  have,  than  that  in  loving  thee 
Glory  to  that  eternal  peace  is  paid, 
Which  such  divinity  to  thee  imparts, 
As  hallows  and  makes  pure  all  gentle  hearts. 
His  hope  is  treacherous  only,  whose  love  dies 
With  beauty,  which  is  varying  every  hour ; 
Rut  in  chaste  hearts  uninfluenced  by  the  power 
Of   earthly    change,    there    blooms   a    deathless 

flower, 
"That  breathes  on  earth  the  air  of  Paradise. 


NOTES 

21  [LVI]    The  sonnet  is  to  be  classed  with 
the  preceding.     In    a   variant,  the  theologic 
metaphor  is  carried  further :  u  From  without, 
I  know  not  whence,  came  that  immortal  part 
which  separateth  not  from  thy  sacred  breast, 
yet  traverseth  the  entire  world,  healeth  every 
intellect,  and  honoreth  heaven." 

22  [LXI]   As   all  tools  used  by   man  are 
formed  by  means  of  other  tools,  the  archetypal 
tool  must  be  that  celestial  instrument  by  which 
the  world  is  fashioned.     On  earth,  Vittoria 
Colonna  had  been  the  hammer  (as  we  now 
say,  the   chisel)  by  which  had  been  inspired 
the    creative  activity  of  the  artist.     By  her 
death,  this  influence  had  been  withdrawn  to 
heaven,  there  to  become  united  with  the  all- 
forming  hammer  of  the  eternal  Maker ;  it  is, 
therefore,  only  from  on  high  that   the  artist 
can    look    for   the    completion    of  his    own 
genius. 

To  the  text,  in  the  hand  of  Michelangelo, 
is  added  a  sentence  expressing  his  sense  of 
the  incomparable  merit  of  Vittoria,  as  the 
divine  instrument  which  none  other  is  able 
to  wield,  and  a  prayer  that  his  own  hammer, 
as  he  metaphorically  says,  may  also  attain  a 
reception  in  heaven. 

The  mystically  expressed,  but  in  reality 
simple  and  direct  verse  is  crowded  with  ideas 
which  strive  for  utterance.  The  sculptor 

85 


NOTES 

seems  to  have  written  prophetically  ;  after  the 
passing  away  of  Vittoria,  the  last  of  his  ani- 
mating impulses  appears  to  have  been  removed, 
and  his  life  becomes  that  of  a  recluse,  strug- 
gling with  the  infirmities  of  advancing  age. 

Several  other  pieces  relate  to  the  death  of 
Vittoria. 

[  LXIl] 

QUAND'  EL  MINISTRO  DE'  SOSPIR  ME'  TANTI 

WHEN  she  who  ministereth  sighs,  withdrew 
from  the  world's  sight,  from  her  own  self  and 

mine, 

Nature,  who  made  her  in  our  eyes  to  shine, 
Remained  abashed,  and  downcast  all  who  knew. 
Yet  be  not  Death  of  his  loud  vauntings  rife 
O'er  the  suns  sun,  as  over  others ;  Love 
Hath  him  subdued,  and  her  endowed  with  life 
Roth  here  below,  and  with  the  pure  above. 
"Unjust  and  haughty  "Death  did  so  engage 
To  hush  her  praises,  and  her  soul  bestow 
Where  it  would  seem  less  beautiful ;  and  lo  ! 
Reverse  effects  illuminate  Time's  page ; 
On  earth,  more  life  than  she  in  life  possessed, 
While  Heaven  who    wished   her,  now  enjoyeth 

blest. 

The  thought,  that  Nature  is  disgraced  in 
the  loss  of  its  best  creation,  is  repeated  in 
Michelangelo's  poetry.     (See  sonnet   No.  4 
[xvn] ,  madrigal  No.  9  [xin] .) 
86 


NOTES 

Two  other  sonnets,  Nos.  LXIII  and  LXIV, 
breathe  an  atmosphere  of  the  most  gloomy 
despair.  The  first  expresses  a  profound  self- 
reproach  ;  the  time  to  soar  heavenward  was 
while  the  sun  of  life  still  shone; 'it  is  now 
too  late.  The  second  declares  that  the  flame 
has  expired,  to  leave  only  ashes  without  a 
spark. 

I  do  not  doubt  that  here  also  belongs  an- 
other sonnet,  placed  by  Guasti  as  if  belonging 
to  an  earlier  date. 

[LI] 

TORNAMI     AL     TEMPO    ALLOR    CHE     LENTA    E 
SCIOLTA 

GIVE  me  the  day  when  free  was  cast  the  rein 
For  headlong  ardor's  unreflecting  race  ; 
Restore  to  me  the  calm  angelic  face 
Wherewith  interred  seems  Virtue  to  remain ; 
Give  back  the  wanderings,  the  steps  of  pain , 
So  slow  to  him  by  weary  age  oppressed; 
Give  water  to  my  eyes,  fire  to  my  breast, 
If  thou  wilt  take  thy  fill  of  me  again. 
If,  Love,  9t  is  true,  thou  livest  on  no  more 
Than  sighs  and  tears  of  lovers  bitter-sweet, 
A  weary  age  bath  nought  of  thy  desire ; 
The  soul  already  near  the  further  shore, 
With  shield  of  holier  darts  doth  thine  defeat, 
And  the  burned  wood  is  proof  against  the  fire. 


NOTES 

A  madrigal  relates  to  the  same  theme. 

[VI] 
PER    NON    S'    AVERE     A    RIPIGLIAR    DA    TANTT 

THAT  perfectness  of  beauty  free  from  peer 

Might  be  reclaimed  and  garnered  without  fail, 

Upon  a  lady  excellently  clear 

Was  it  bestowed  beneath  a  shining  veil; 

The  heavenly  boon  had  hardly  been  repaid, 

If  scattered  among  all  that  Heaven  had  made. 

Nov.},  from  world  unaware, 

\n  breathing  of  a  sigh, 

Hath  God  who  reigns  on  high 

Resumed,  and  hid  away  his  beauty  fair. 

Yet,  though  the  body  die, 

Cherish  shall  memory  still 

Sacred  and  sweet,  her  written  legacy. 

Compassionate  and  stern,  if  Heaven's  will 

To  all  had  granted  what  to  her  alone, 

We  all  had  died  for  making  good  the  loan. 

The  madrigal  recites  that  deity  had  chosen 
to  embody  in  a  single  life  the  sum  of  beauty, 
to  the  end  that  the  celestial  gift  might  be 
more  easily  resumed.  Similar  concetti  are  to 
be  found  in  the  series  of  epitaphs  composed 
on  Cecchino  Bracci,  in  1544.  Mr.  Symonds 
very  unjustly  criticises  the  verse  as  constrained, 
affected,  and  exhibiting  an  absence  of  genuine 
grief. 

88 


NOTES     ON     THE 
EPIGRAMS 

1  [l]   THE  NIGHT  OF  THE  MEDICI  CHAPEL. 

According  to  Vasari,  when  the  statues  of  the 
Medici  Chapel  were  exposed  to  view,  after 
Michelangelo's  departure  for  Rome,  early  in 
1535,  an  unknown  author  affixed  a  quatrain 
to  the  image  of  Night.  This  person  was 
afterwards  known  as  Giovanni  di  Carlo 
Strozzi,  at  the  time  eighteen  years  of  age. 
The  verse,  not  ungraceful  but  superficial, 
recited  that  Night,  carved  by  an  angel,  was 
living,  for  the  very  reason  that  she  seemed 
to  sleep,  and  if  accosted,  would  make  reply. 
To  this  fanciful  compliment,  Michelangelo 
responded  in  the  beautiful  quatrain,  which 
exhibits  his  view  of  the  Medicean  usurpation. 
It  were  to  be  wished  that  in  presence  of 
the  awful  forms,  visitors  would  bear  in  mind 
the  sculptor's  advice.  I  have  heard  a  young 
American  lady,  in  a  voice  somewhat  strident, 
expound  to  her  mother  the  theme  of  the 
statue,  reading  aloud  the  information  fur- 
nished by  Baedeker. 

2  [ll]     DEATH     AND    THE    COFFIN.       The 

younger  Buonarroti  cites  the  statement  of 
Bernardo  Buontalenti,  that  in  his  house  in 
Rome,  halfway  up  the  stair,  Michelangelo 


NOTES 

had  drawn  a  skeleton  Death  carrying  on  his 
shoulder  a  coffin,  on  which  were  inscribed 
these  lines.  The  story  is  interesting,  in  con- 
nection with  the  part  taken  by  Death  in  the 
verse  of  the  sculptor.  Gianotti  represents 
him  as  declining  to  attend  a  merry-making 
on  the  ground  that  it  was  necessary  to  muse 
on  Death.  (See  madrigal  No.  12  [xvi].) 
The  idea  appears  to  be  that  death  cannot 
be  dreadful,  since  it  bequeaths  to  life  not  only 
the  immortal  soul,  but  even  the  body ;  pro- 
bably the  artist  meant  to  say  the  body  made 
immortal  through  art. 

3    [v]     DEFINITION    OF  LOVE.       With    this 

definition  from  the  subjective  point  of  view, 
may  be  compared  madrigal  No.  5  [vni] . 
As  usual  the  imagination  of  the  poet  takes 
plastic  form ;  Love,  in  his  mind,  is  a  statue 
lying  in  the  heart,  and  waiting  to  be  un- 
veiled. Akin  is  the  celebrated  sonnet  of 
Dante,  Amor  e  cor  gentil  sono  una  cosa,  which 
contains  the  same  conception,  and  which 
perhaps  Michelangelo  may  have  remembered. 
But  the  more  mystical  idea  of  the  sculptor 
borrows  only  the  suggestion. 


90 


NOTES     ON     THE 
MADRIGALS 

1  [i]    During  his  Roman  residence,  Mi- 
chelangelo was    brought  into   intimate   rela- 
tions with  Florentine  exiles,  who  gathered  in 
Rome,    where    ruled   a   Farnese    pope,    and 
where    certain    cardinals    favored    the    anti- 
Medicean    faction.     From   the    course  of  a 
turbulent  mountain-brook,  Florence,  follow- 
ing an    inevitable  law,  was  obliged  to  issue 
into  the  quiet  but  lifeless  flow  of  inevitable 
despotism.     It  could   not    be  -expected    that 
the  fiery  Michelangelo  could  comprehend  the 
inexorableness  of  the   fate  which,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  necessities  of  trade,  compelled 
Florence  to  prefer  conditions  ensuring  tran- 
quillity, though  under  an  inglorious  and  cor- 
rupt personal  rule.     The  sublime   madrigal 
shows    the    depth    of  his    republican    senti- 
ments.    (See  No.  22  [LXVIII]  .) 

2  [in]    The  difficult  but  very  interesting 
madrigal  gives  a  profound  insight    into    the 
spirit  of  the  writer,  who  felt  himself  to  move 
in  a  society  foreign  from  the  higher  flight  of 
his  genius.     His  habits  of  isolation  are  re- 
marked   by    contemporaries.      Giannotti,    in 
the    dialogue    above    mentioned,    discourses 
amusingly  on  this  trait  of  character,  putting 

9' 


NOTES 

into  the  mouth  of  the  artist  a  reply  to  an  in- 
vitation. "  I  won't  promise."  "  Why  ?  " 
"  Because  I  had  rather  stay  at  home."  "  For 
what  reason  ?  "  "  Because,  if  I  should  put 
myself  under  such  conditions,  I  should  be 
too  gay;  and  I  don't  want  to  be  gay." 
Luigi  del  Riccio,  introduced  as  interlocutor, 
exclaims  that  he  never  heard  of  such  a  thing ; 
in  this  sad  world  one  must  seize  every  oppor- 
tunity of  distraction  ;  he  himself  would  supply 
a  monochord,  and  they  would  all  dance,  to 
drive  away  sorrow.  To  this  comforting  pro- 
position, Michelangelo  returns  that  he  should 
much  prefer  to  cry.  Giannotti  romances; 
but  Francis  of  Holland  is  nearer  the  fact 
when  he  makes  the  sculptor  answer  an  accu- 
sation urged  against  solitary  habits.  The 
artist  declares  that  there  is  good  ground  for 
such  accusation  against  one  who  withdraws 
from  the  world  by  reason  of  eccentricity,  but 
not  against  a  man  who  has  something  better  to 
do  with  his  time.  The  particular  occasion  of 
the  madrigal  seems  to  have  been  dissatisfac- 
tion with  praise  lavished  on  what  to  Michel- 
angelo seemed  an  unworthy  work.  Southey 
paraphrases  the  poem,  but  gives  the  idea  only 
imperfectly. 

Here,  in  connection  with  the  idea  of  beauty 
as  furnished  from  within,  may  be  introduced 
a  version  of  a  madrigal  interesting  rather  on 
92 


NOTES 

account  of  the  philosophic  conception  than 
the  poetic  excellence.  (See  also  sonnet  xvm, 
translated  in  the  note  to  No.  xxx.) 

[vn] 

PER    FIDO    ESEMPLO    ALLA    MIA    VOCAZIONE 

ON  me  hath  been  bestowed  by  birthtide-gift, 
Of  both  mine  arts  the  mirror  and  the  light, 
beauty,  my  model  in  my  calling  here. 
It  only  hath  the  competence  to  lift 
The  vision  of  the  artist  to  that  height 
At  which  I  aim  in  form  or  color  clear. 

If  judgment  rash  and  fantasy  unwise 
Degrade  to  sense  the  beauty,  that  doth  bear 
And  raise  toward  heaven  all  sane  intelligence, 
Man's  wavering  glances  have  no  power  to  rise, 
Above  inconstant,  faithful  only  where 
They  linger,  unless  mercy  call  them  thence. 


3  [IV]  ^ne  maclrigal  is  addressed  to  Luigi 
del  Riccio,  friend  of  Michelangelo's  declining 
years,  and  a  correspondent  to  whom  were 
transmitted  many  of  the  extant  poems.  In 
1544  Luigi,  during  a  sickness  of  the  sculptor, 
took  him  into  his  own  house  and  acted  as  his 
nurse  ;  but  shortly  afterwards,  he  refused  a 
request  of  the  artist,  declining  to  suppress  an 
engraving  he  had  been  requested  to  destroy. 

93 


NOTES 

The  indignation  of  Michelangelo  found  vent 
in  a  bitter  letter.  Riccio  died  in  1546.  Sy- 
monds  (Life,  vol.  ii,  p.  194)  thinks  that 
Michelangelo  speedily  excused  his  friend  and 
repented  his  anger.  Here  the  whole  heart  of 
the  artist  is  disclosed,  and  we  have  a  revela- 
tion of  the  manner  in  which  internal  brooding 
and  many  disappointments  had  rendered  some- 
what morose  a  gentle  and  affectionate  nature, 
characterized  by  pride  amounting  to  a  fault. 

With  the  idea  may  be  compared  Emerson's 
essay  on  u  Gifts."  "  Hence  the  fitness  of 
beautiful,  not  useful  things,  for  gifts.  This 
giving  is  usurpation,  and  therefore,  when  the 
beneficiary  is  ungrateful,  as  all  beneficiaries 
hate  all  Timons,  not  at  all  considering  the 
value  of  the  gift,  but  looking  back  to  the 
greater  store  it  was  taken  from,  I  rather  sym- 
pathize with  the  beneficiary  than  with  the 
anger  of  my  lord  Timon.  For  the  expec- 
tation of  gratitude  is  mean,  and  is  continually 
punished  by  the  total  insensibility  of  the 
obliged  person.  It  is  great  happiness  to  get 
off  without  injury  and  heart-burning  from 
one  who  has  had  the  ill-luck  to  be  served  by 
you.  It  is  a  very  onerous  business,  this  of 
being  served,  and  the  debtor  naturally  wishes 
to  give  you  a  slap."  He  adds,  entirely  in 
the  spirit  of  Michelangelo,  "  No  services  are 
of  any  value,  but  only  likeness." 

94 


NOTES 

4  [v]   The    poet  addresses  to  his  friend 
Vittoria   Colonna  a  theologic    inquiry,  after 
the  manner  of  the  appeals  of  Dante  to  Bea- 
trice.    Apparently  the  letter  included  a  blank 
leaf  for  an  answer.     The  question   is,  "  In 
heaven  are  contrite  sinners  less  valued  than 
self-satisfied    saints  ?  "      The    obvious    reply 
must  be  that  in   the  nature  of  things   such 
saints   are   impossible.     The    inquiry,  there- 
fore, is    not  to   be  taken   as   serious,  but   as 
playful  and  ironical.     I  should  be  inclined  to 
interpret    the    verse    as    asking,  "  Am    I,  an 
humble  artist,  but  sincerely  devoted,  of  less 
value  in  your  eyes  than  the  very  courtly  and 
important  personages  by  whom  you  are  sur- 
rounded ?  "  (as  Vittoria  was  in  close  intimacy 
with  high  ecclesiastical  functionaries).     The 
sentiment  is  gay  and  jesting,  while  full   of 
pleading  affection. 

5  [vin]    If  of  all  the  compositions  of  Mi- 
chelangelo, one  were  asked  to  name  the  most 
representative,  it  would  be  natural  to  select 
this  incomparably  lovely  madrigal.     No  lyric 
poet  has    brought    into    a  few    words    more 
music,  more  truth,  more  illumination.     The 
four  lines  cited  at  the  end  of  the  Introduction 
might  well  be  taken  as  the  motto  for  a  gather- 
ing of  the   poems;  and   if  the   arrangement 
had  not  seemed  inconsistent  with  the  number- 
ing of  the  pieces,  I  would  gladly  have  placed 

95 


NOTES 

the  madrigal  at  the  end,  as  summing  up  the  es- 
pecial contribution  of  Michelangelo  to  letters. 

6  [ix]    A  charming  and  light-hearted  piece 
of  music,  obviously  belonging  to  the  earlier 
period  of  Michelangelo's  poetic  activity.    The 
verse  is  written  on  blue  paper,  with  the  sub- 
scription, u  Divine  things  are  spoken  of  in  an 
azure  field  "  (in  heaven).     The  suggestion  is 
furnished   by   a  conventional   concetto   of  the 
period ;  but  the  familiarity  does  not  prevent 
the  thought  lending  itself  to  genuinely  poeti- 
cal treatment.      No.   x  is  a   pretty  variant, 
in  which  the  cruelty  of  the  lady  is  compared 
to  the  hardness  of  the  marble  in  which  her 
image  is  wrought.     The  lines  are  subscribed 
"  for  sculptors "  (Da  scultori).       The    close 
connection  with   his   art    lends  to  even   the 
most  simple  of  these  verses  an  unspeakable 
attraction. 

7  [xi]    In  this  magnificent  song,  worthy 
of  the  greatest  of  lyric  poets,  we  are  still  oc- 
cupied with  the  concepts  of  plastic  art.     The 
artist  achieves  the  complete  expression  of  his 
idea  only  through  painful  toil,  and  often  lapse 
of  years  which  leave  him  ready  to  depart  from 
a  world  in  which  accomplishment  is  itself  a 
sign  of  ripeness  for  death.     With  that  uni- 
versal animism,  as  we  now  say,  by  which  all 
general  truths  of  man's  life  are  felt  to  be  also 
applicable  to  the  course  of  Nature,  the  poet 


NOTES 

is  entitled  to  apply  the  idea  to  external  being. 
And  with  what  insight !  If  ever  genius  can 
be  said  to  have  forecast  the  conclusions  of 
scientific  inquiry,  it  is  so  in  this  instance; 
Michelangelo  presents  us  with  a  truly  modern 
conception  of  Nature,  as  the  creative  artist, 
who  through  a  series  of  ages  and  a  succession 
of  sketches,  is  occupied  with  continually  un- 
successful, but  ever-improving  efforts  at  the 
expression  of  her  internal  life.  The  perfec- 
tion of  the  creature,  which  marks  the  accom- 
plishment of  the  undertaking,  signifies  also  the 
end  of  the  process ;  with  such  completeness 
is  felt  the  sorrow  incident  to  all  termination, 
and  especially  the  pain  of  the  mortal,  who 
feels  that  delight  in  perfect  beauty  enforces 
the  consciousness  of  his  own  transitoriness, 
and  emphasizes  the  sense  of  Nature  as  perish- 
able. Hence,  perhaps  it  may  be  explained 
that  all  perception  of  perfect  loveliness  i§  said 
to  be  accompanied  by  a  sensation  of  fear. 
The  piece  possesses  a  grandeur  of  rhythm 
corresponding  to  its  depth  of  intellectual  ap- 
prehension, and  is  worthy  to  stand  beside  the 
greatest  of  the  artist's  plastic  productions,  as 
equally  immortal.  In  such  verse  Michel- 
angelo rose  to  the  level  of  a  world  poet ;  nor 
has  early  English  literature  anything  of  a  kin- 
dred nature  worthy  to  be  placed  in  comparison. 
8  [xn]  Michelangelo  perpetually  varies 

97 


NOTES 

but  never  repeats  the  theme.  Once  more,  it 
is  not  the  trembling  of  the  hand  which  causes 
the  artist's  failure ;  it  is  the  uncertainty  of  the 
mind,  not  clear  as  to  its  intent. 

9  [xin]    Again  the  bitter  contrast  of  the 
permanence  of  art  with  the  fleeting  period  of 
human  life.     We  have  had  the  idea  in  sonnet 
xvii.     But  the  argument  is  now  carried  a  step 
further.     According    to    mediaeval  (and    also 
modern)  national  morality,  the  destruction  of 
kindred  implies  the  duty  of  blood-vengeance. 
On  whom,  then,  devolves  the  conduct  of  the 
feud  made  necessary  by  the  taking  away  of 
the  beloved  ?     Not  on  man,  but  on  Nature, 
whose  pride  must  be  offended  by  the  prefer- 
ence given  to  the  works  of  her  children  as 
compared  with  the  transitoriness  of  her  own. 
The   permanence   of  the  artistic  product   is 
therefore  a  sign  that  Nature  herself  is  bound 
to  require  of  Time  atonement  for  the  wrong 
done  to   imagination ;  and  thus  art  is  made 
the  prophet  of  restoration. 

10  [xiv]   The  metaphor  is  now  furnished 
by  the  work  of  the  metal-caster;  and   since 
in  this  case  there  has  been  no  change  in  the 
conditions    of  manufacture,  the    comparison 
still  seems  simple  and  natural. 

11  [xv]   The  tender,  simple,  and  univer- 
sally applicable  lament  at  the  same  time  in- 
cludes its  own  consolation. 


NOTES 

12  [xvi]  The  idea  of  Death  as  deliverer 
from  Love  is  often  repeated  by  the  poet. 
Giannotti  probably  followed  rather  the  verse 
than  any  spoken  words  in  the  sentences  he 
has  put  into  the  lips  of  the  artist :  "  I  remind 
you  that  to  re-discover  one's  self,  and  to 
enjoy  one's  self,  it  is  not  necessary  to  seize 
on  so  many  pleasures  and  delights,  but  only  to 
reflect  on  death.  This  is  the  only  thought 
which  enables  us  to  recognize  ourselves, 
which  maintains  us  in  unity  with  ourselves, 
and  prevents  us  from  being  robbed  by  parents, 
kinsfolk,  friends,  great  masters,  ambition,  ava- 
rice, and  other  vices  and  sins,  which  take  man 
from  man,  and  keep  him  dispersed  and  dissi- 
pated, without  suffering  him  ever  to  find  him- 
self and  become  at  one  with  himself.  Mar- 
vellous is  the  effect  of  this  thought  of  death, 
which  in  virtue  of  its  nature  all-destructive, 
nevertheless  conserves  and  supports  those  who 
include  it  in  their  meditation,  and  defends 
them  from  every  human  passion.  Which, 
methinks,  I  have  sufficiently  indicated  in  a 
madrigal,  where,  in  treating  of  love,  I  con- 
clude that  against  it  is  no  better  defence  than 
the  thought  of  death." 

A  beautiful  variation,  characterized  by  the 
author's  invariable  originality,  is  furnished  by 
the  number  next  in  Guasti's  edition. 


99 


NOTES 

[  XVII  ] 

NELLA    MEMORIA    DELLE    COSE    BELLE 

WHEN  Memory  may  cherish  and  endear 

Some  lovely  sight,  resolve  availeth  not 

For  her  discrowning,  until  Death  appear, 

And  exile  her,  as  she  made  him  forgot, 

Chill  flame  to  frost,  change  laughter  into  pain, 

And  make  abhorred  the  beauty  loved  before, 

That  tenanteth  the  empty  heart  no  more. 

Yet  if  she  turn  again 

Her  lucid  eyes  toward  home  of  their  desire, 

With  arid  bough  more  ardent  grows  the  fire. 

13  [xvm]    The  idea    that    only  through 
contemplating  the  person  of  the  beloved  can 
the  soul  transcend  from  time  to  eternity  is 
familiar  in  the  later  compositions  of  Michel- 
angelo.    Compare  sonnet  21  [LVI], 

14  [xix]    The  same  conception   receives 
a  different  treatment ;  mortal  beauty  is  now 
represented  as  exercising  too  potent  an  attrac- 
tion, and  preventing  the  desire  from  mounting 
beyond  it. 

15  [xxi]    The  thought    has   been   elabo- 
rated  in  a   modern   sense  by  Lowell   in   his 
"  Endymion  :  "  — 

100 


NOTES 

GODDESS,  reclimb  thy  heaven,  and  be  once  more 
An  inaccessible  splendor  to  adore, 
A  faith,  a  hope  of  such  transcendent  worth 
As  bred  ennobling  discontent  with  earth ; 
Give  back  the  longing,  back  the  elated  mood 
That,  fed  with  thee,  spurned  every  meaner  good ; 
Give  even  the  spur  of  impotent  despair 
"That,  without  hope,  still  bade  aspire  and  dare  ; 
Give  back  the  need  to  worship  that  still  pours 
Down  to  the  soul  that  virtue  it  adores  ! 

So  far  the  idea  coincides  with  that  of  Mi- 
chelangelo ;  but  the  conclusion  of  the  later 
poet  varies :  — 

Goddess  triform,  I  own  thy  triple  spell, 
My  heaven9 s  queen,  —  queen,  too,  of  my  earth  and 
hell! 

Such  could  not  be  the  termination  of  the 
author  of  the  Renaissance,  at  a  time  when  his 
star  was  Vittoria  Colonna. 

1 6  [xxin]    The  sweet  and  plaintive  verse 
was  popular  as  a  song  even  in  the  lifetime  of 
Michelangelo,  as   may  be  inferred   from   its 
mention  by  Varchi. 

17  [xxv]    The  madrigal  has  all  the  spirit 
of  English  song  in  the  early  part  of  the  sev- 
enteenth   century;  but    what    English  verse, 
having  the  same  idea,  could  be  mentioned  in 


comparison  ? 


101 


N  OTES 

1 8  [LII]    The   beautiful   song  exhibits   a 
great  number  of  variations.     Perhaps  on  ac- 
count of  the  musical  character,  counteracting 
a  meditative    tendency,  Platonic    philosophy 
appears  only  as  lending  a  gentle  mist  trans- 
formed by  the  sunshine  of  pleasurable  passion. 

19  [LIII]   Compare  No.  LXXII.     I  should 
assign    this    madrigal,    in    spite  of    its    light 
character,  to  the  later  epoch. 

20  [LIV]    The  ninth  line  appears  to  con- 
tain  a    reference  to  Vittoria   Colonna,  who 
lived  in  a  convent,  toward  which  the  desires 
of  the  poet,  as  he  says,  scarce  dared  to  reach. 

21  [LVII]    It  can  scarce  be  doubted  that 
the  attribution  of  masculine  thought  to  the 
beloved  is   a   reference  to  the   character  of 
Vittoria. 

22  [LXVIII]    The  dialogue  of  this  madri- 
gal is  intentionally  veiled,  as  if  the  poet  were 
conscious  of  dealing  with  a  dangerous  theme. 
Sublime  are  the  last  two  lines,  containing  all 
the  Michelangelo  of  the  Sistine  frescoes ;  the 
sentiment  is  not  the  purely  Christian  concep- 
tion of  forgiveness  of  injuries,  the  mildness 
which  on   principle  turns   the  other    cheek. 
Significant  is  the  word  altero,  haughty ;  Mi- 
chelangelo describes  the  sentiment  of  a  great 
and  proud  spirit,  so  lofty  as  to  feel  a  supe- 
riority to  personal  resentment,  so  truly  Flo- 

102 


NOTES 

rentine  as  to  receive  no  satisfaction  in  the 
prospect  of  vengeance  taken  on  a  citizen  of 
Florence. 

23  [LXIX]   A  pretty  piece  of  poetic  ratio- 
cination, cast  into  the   form  of  a  case  tried 
before  a  court  of  love,  and  ending,  in   the 
spirit  of  the  poet,  with  a  universal  truth. 

24  [LXXII]    Compare  No.  20   [LIV],     It 
will  be  seen  that  the  allusions  give  some  rea- 
son to  believe  that  the  idea  is  intended  to  be 
biographic,  though  of  course  not  to  be  taken 
as  entirely  literal. 

25  [xcm]    A  pleasing  way  of  expressing 
a  sense  of  the   incompatibility  of  Love  and 
Death,  that  appears  in  many  variations,  and 
must  be  considered  biographic   in  its  senti- 
ment. 


103 


INDEX    OF    FIRST    LINES 


INDEX     OF     FIRST     LINES 

The  Ionian  numbers  refer   to 
the  numeration  ofGuasti 

SONNETS 

PAGE 

xxxi.  A  cbe  piu  debb9  io  mail9  intensa  voglia  72 

xvin.  A/  cor  di  zolfo,  alia  came  di  stoppa  74 

XLI.  Colui  cbe  fece^  e  non  di  cos  a  alcuna  83 

xvn.  Com9  esser^  donna  ^  pub  quel  ch9  alcun  vede  7 

xiv.  "Da  cbe  concetto  ba  I9  arte  inter  a  e  diva  5 

I.  Dal  del  discese^  e  col  mortal  suo^  poi  3 
xxi.  D'  altrui  pietoso  e  sol  di  se  spietato  68 
xxv.  T>immi  di  grazia,  amor^  se  gli  occbi  met  1 1 
xxix.  I'  ml  credetti^  il primo  giorno  ch9  io  1 5 
xix.  10  ml  son  caro  assai  piu  ch9  io  non  soglio  j 
xxxix.  La  ragion  meco  si  lamenta  e  dole  19 
xxvin.  Ltf  vita  dal  mie  amor  non  e  V  cor  mio  1 3 
xv.  Non  ha  I9  ottimo  artist  a  alcun  concetto  5 
xxvi.  N0«  men  gran  grazia^  donna^  cbe  gran 

doglia  79 

xxvu.  Non  posso  altra  figura  immaginarmi  1 3 

XL.  Non  so  se  s9  e  la  desiata  luce  19 

LII.  Non  vider  gli  occbi  miei  cos  a  mortale  23 

XLIV.  O  nott9,  o  dolce  tempo  bencbe  nero  21 

XLIII.  Perche  Febo  non  tore9  e  non  distende  21 
xxxin.  Perche  tuo  gran  bellezze  al  mondo  sieno  1 7 

LVI.  Per  ritornar  la  donde  venne  fora  23 

LXII.  Quand9  el  ministro  de9  sospir  me9  tanti  86 

II.  Quante  dime  si  de9  non  si  pub  dire  63 

107 


INDEX    OF    FIRST    LINES 

PAGE 

xx.  Quanto  si  gode  lieta  e  ben  contesta  9 
xxxviii.  Rendete  a  gli  occbi  miei,  o  fonte  o 

fiume  80 

LXI.  Se  '/  mie  rozzo  martello  i  duri  sassi  25 

xxn.  S*  nel  volto  per  gli  occhi  il  cor  si  vede  9 

xxxv.  Sento  a"  unfoco  un  freddo  aspetto  acceso  79 

L.  S'  /'  avessi  creduto  al  primo  sguardo  8 1 

xxiv.  Spirto  ben  nato,  in  cm  si  speccbia  e  vede  1 1 

xxxn.  S*  un  cas to  amor,  s'  una  pieta  superna  1 7 

Li.  Tornami  al  tempo  a  I/or  che  lent  a  e  sciolta  87 

xxx.  Veggio  co9  bet  vostri  occbi  un  dolce  lume  1 5 


EPIGRAMS 

I.  Caro  n?  e  V  sonno^  e  piu  V  esser  dt  sasso  27 

II.  lo  dico  a  voi,  cV  al  mondo  avete  dato  27 
v.  hmore  e  un  concetto  di  bellezza  27 


MADRIGALS 

xxi.  A  /'  alia  tuo  lucente  diadema  47 

xcill.  Amor^  se  tu  se*  dio  57 

xv.  Barf/,  voi  cbe  su  nel  del  godete  41 

LIU.  Chi  e  quel  che  per  for za  a  te  mi  mena  5 1 

xxv.  Come  pub  esser  cV  io  non  sia  piu  mio  49 

xxin.  Deb  /  dimmi,  amor,  se  /'  alma  di  costei  47 

vin.  Gli  occhi  mm  vagbi  delle  cose  belle  3  5 

LXVIII.  10  dico  che  fra  noi,  potenti  del  53 

en.  Lezzi)  vezzi,  carezze,  or  feste  e  perle  67 

LXXIII.  Mestier  non  era  air  alma  tuo  beltate  55 
108 


INDEX    OF    FIRST    LINES 

PAGE 

xi.  Negli  annl  molte  e  nelle  molte  pruove  37 
XVII.  NW/tf  memoria  delle  cose  belle                  100 

xiv.  N0»  pur  d'  argento  o  d'  oro  39 

XVI.  Non  pur  la  morte,  ma  V  timor  di  quella  41 

in.  Non  sempre  al  mondo  e  si  pregiato  e  caro  3 1 

Lll.  Ogni  cosa  cb9  i9  veggio  mi  consiglia  49 

v.  Ora  in  sul  destro,  or  a  in  sul  manco  piede  3  3 

iv.  Perche  e  troppo  molesta  3 1 

vii.  Per  fido  esemplo  alia  mia  vocazione  93 

I.  Per  molti,  donna,  anzi  per  mille  amanti  29 

vi.  Per  non  s'  avere  a  ripigliar  da  tanti  88 

xix.  Quantuncbe  ver  sia,  cbe  /'  alt  a  e  divina  45 

LXIX.  S'  alcuna  parte  in  donna  e  cbe  sia  bella  55 

ix.  S^  dal  cor  lieto  divien  hello  il  volto  3  5 

xill.  S*  a"  una  pietra  viva  39 

xvin.  S'  egli  e  cbe  '/  buon  desio  43 

LIV.  S*  V  commodo  de  gli  occbi  alcun  constringe  5 1 

xil.  S/  come  per  levar,  donna,  si  pone  3  7 

LVII.  Uw  uomo  in  una  donna,  anzi  uno  dio  53 


109 


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U.  S.  A. 


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